We Can Start From the Beginning
by Lauryn Vi
Summary: "... And he wondered whether he and Maria had been thrown together out of necessity. Him, a grieving widow with everything to gain, and her, an outsider – never quite fitting in with her dress and her ideas – with everything to prove." [Inspired by the TSOM forum Feb 2016 prompt - "write a meet-cute"]
1. Prologue

Welcome to the start of what I hope to be my *first* long (and hopefully eventually completed) story. Inspired by a (2016!) TSOM forum prompt - write a 'meet cute'. My inability to write this as a one-shot eventually led to the exploration of the idea that sometimes, love is not a kindling that blazes into flame, but a slow, smouldering burn.

Warning: Basically just a very long meet-cute. And lots - LOTS - of talking. Might be boring.

Disclaimer: Meet-cute inspired by the Anne of Green Gables scene displayed in the cover art- As a result, lots of homage paid to Anne along the way.

Would love any and all feedback (and encouragement/gentle harassment to keep going!)

* * *

Prologue

He wasn't sure which of them had made the suggestion of boarding school. It had been a long, sweltering summer month in Vienna where he had drunk more than he cared to admit and socialized much less than Elsa wanted or deserved.

He couldn't remember whether Elsa had offered the suggestion to be helpful, or if he had come up with it himself out of desperation.

Not that it had mattered, because in the end, it was still he – their _father_ – who had agreed to send the children to boarding school (the most prestigious in Europe, Elsa had assured him). He, Georg Von Trapp, who had once upon a different time promised himself and his wife never to send the children away.

He, Georg Von Trapp, who had laughed at his wife as she joyously and carefully planned each of her children's days. He, Georg Von Trapp, for whom home had always been a haven, an embrace, a sanction at the end of his battles. He, Georg Von Trapp, who had happily exchanged his fruitful naval career to change nappies and read bedtime stories; and when the day was done, retreat to the master suite with his beautiful wife beside him, content to be both commander and follower in his own little domain.

And here he was, five years later, leagues away from Aigen, surrounding himself with strangers, entertaining the idea of sending his children to boarding school.

Shouldn't he want to be home?

Shouldn't he miss his children?

Georg had had plenty of time over the summer to reflect on what a terrible father he had been. He told himself he loved his children. But his heart added that love was now accompanied by pain and marred with grief. A simple walk around the house could evoke the most bittersweet of memories. The daily, domestic life he had happily retired into suddenly became a minefield to navigate.

To his children, he had become sharp, angry, unreasonable. Even though Georg had been around – at times – he had held them at arms length. For all his presence accomplished, he might as well have been off at sea.

He had depended for years on unreliable governesses and barely making it through the summers, hoping the routine and discipline of the school year would sort his children out.

Except that it hadn't.

This year had been an unqualified disaster, culminating with a phone call from the school principal to personally inform him just how poorly his children were doing in meeting scholastic standards (except for Friedrich, although the principal had strongly hinted this was more a result of smarts than effort – a snide remark that left Georg more than a little smug). His caller had been a snarky little thing, whose oily pleasantness seemed to take delight in finding fault with every one of his children.

Marta was always asking questions she already knows the answers to.

Friedrich never completes his assignments.

Brigitta had to be implored to stop reading long enough to pay attention in class, and her brother Kurt was always daydreaming.

Not only had Louisa failed several subjects, but nobody could go near her with a ten-foot pole without getting an angry reply. Her sister Liesl was just the opposite, having gained an unwelcome reputation as the class flirt. (Georg had turned a speechless, blotchy purple after that particular observation, and almost missed the principal tutting his disproval that young Miss Gretl refuses to speak when spoken to.)

Georg had politely tried to cut the man off on several occasions. His control slipped at the nonchalant remarks over his eldest daughter, his anger unleashing itself in a few cutting words aimed at the school's rubbish curriculum and utter lack of teachers able to enforce discipline.

He had hung up before the principal could voice his opinion that the Captain was as outrageous as his children. He'd never actually met the man, despite the many years his children had gone to school in Salzburg. He paced the study all the afternoon, bristled with anger in defense of his children. How could any child be prevailed to excel under the tutelage of a man like that? Honestly! Finding fault with a five-year old who didn't want to speak out loud in class?

Georg had left for Vienna the next morning with the idea of having the principal removed from his post upon his return, and perhaps one or two more trusted members added to the board who could be prevailed upon to make dependable decisions. The children, he was convinced, would do just fine with a new set of instructors.

But even extravagant luncheons and dances under crystal chandeliers and evenings spent in Elsa's luxury penthouse couldn't distract him from the uneasy sense of dread every time he thought about the children.

What did they need? He knew they were bright – he had seen how their little talents had blossomed under Agathe's guidance. He knew they could be kind – he saw enough to know they banded together, looking after one another. The observations of the children's flaws disturbed him. They seemed like such inconsequential things; little quirks of each child's personality he might have understood if he knew them better, coalescing to magnify an issue he couldn't quite identify.

The day Frau Schmidt phoned his hotel to give report that the children had chased away the first governess of the summer with something she had seen Louisa digging up by the pond, Georg had felt a sudden rush of anger. The unbidden thought flashed through his mind that perhaps if the girl spent more time studying and less time playing pranks, she might have passed.

What did they need? He thought angrily and a little desperately, as he gave his consent for his housekeeper to move down the list of names he had provided her at the start of summer.

A tutor fluent in the deportment of etiquette?

He didn't know if his anger was directed at the school, his children, or himself. He was filled with a sense of failure, but he wasn't sure who had failed whom. He didn't know what it was his children needed, or how to give it to them.

Georg caught himself wondering once or twice over the summer whether he ought to invite Elsa back to Aigen. He knew Elsa was keen to see where he lived and how he spent his time, and only refrained from speaking of it out of respect for him. Georg thought that he himself was beginning to come around to the idea. But it came as a shock to realize that he thought about inviting her, not from his own selfish desire, but from the unspeakable fraud that he was hoping her aristocratic finesse would set an example for the children.

Or that having failed governesses and teachers alike, his children would turn out better if they had a mother.

The thought filled him with a sense of horror and embarrassment, and he avoided Elsa for almost a week. It was in this dark mood that she found him, and somehow led to the topic of boarding school.

A terrible father. And now a terrible sort of gentleman. Desperately, Georg had started the applications for boarding school, deluding himself into thinking he may be able to salvage some of it to give everybody involved a future.

And then he thought of Agathe.

Not the way he had always thought of Agathe over these past few years. Not of the sparkling, brilliant, kind wife he had lost and never let go of and grieved for. Instead, he thought about the promises he had made her. His promise at the altar to make their family's happiness a priority. His promise at the side of Liesl's crib that wherever he was, he would be thinking of them all. His promise at the side of Marta's crib just after he retired that now he would BE there for them all. His promise at his beloved wife's deathbed as with her last words she pleaded for him to keep the children close.

Unable to complete another word of the applications, overwhelmed with terror and guilt and sadness, Georg had fled to the only escape he could think of.

* * *

Maximillan Detweiler, frequent patron of what seemed like all bars in Vienna, had found him hunched over a booth in a cheap saloon. Max, who for once probably _had_ been minding his own business, had been rightfully and unpleasantly surprised to find his old friend drinking himself into oblivion. He thought those days were behind him. Certainly these days Georg seemed equal to any of Elsa's wit and social graces. And yet here he was, tie undone, brow furrowed, eyes unforced, with Elsa nowhere to be seen.

The waitress arrived with yet another drink, glancing at Max before her gaze rested curiously for a moment on Georg. Tall, handsome, brooding – must be every woman's dream, Max mused, disgruntled. He slid into the booth across from his friend.

Georg had lost count of how many drinks he'd had by then.

He had no recollection of how long he and Max had sat there, or the fact at some point Max had stealthily switched his liquor for water. He didn't remember Max dragging him out of the saloon, or know how Max could have possibly gotten him back to his hotel without causing a scene. His first clear recollection of that night was waking up alone on the couch, head pounding as he staggered toward the toilet, cursing like a sailor.

But somewhere in all that mess, he must have confessed something. Everything. For Max showed up (promptly and disgustingly early) two days later, suitcase at his feet, drawing two train tickets from his breast pocket with the show of revealing a winning poker hand and wearing a conspirator's smile.

Very much sober and in control again, Georg had barricaded Max in the doorway and demanded to know what was going on. He was shocked to learn that sometime during the night, he had agreed the best way forward was to return to the villa for a time and take a more avid interest in his children's upbringing.

"I don't know Max," he mumbled, ashamed at the confession his old friend must have forced from him. "I need to consider this."

"Georg," Max shook his head, helping himself to the hotel's bar cart. Georg winced – just looking at the bar cart still gave him a headache. "You're probably the only person I'd say this about, but you make better decisions when you're drunk then when you're sober."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It's true. You think too much. You _overthink_ too much."

Georg stared silently at him. Now that he was sober, the very thought of returning to Aigen for any fixed period of time had his every nerve standing on edge. A panicked sort of static filled his mind at the idea of resuming his once cherished daily routine, even though he knew it was indeed a practical solution. Back on the battlefield if you want to win the war.

But what good would it do when he already thought of his home as a battlefield?

"For your children, Georg." Max said quietly. He had been silently observing Georg's every expression. "They need help."

"Who told you that?" Georg snapped.

"You did. In fact, what you actually said was 'they need me', but that part remains to be seen."

Georg glared at the other man, who looked calmly back at him. Max was all too familiar with Georg's bark to feel the least bit ruffled.

"If it helps, you'll have the delightful pleasure of my company."

"Isn't it customary to wait for an invitation?" Georg growled.

Max was unfazed, smiling pleasantly at his whiskey as he waited.

Georg looked Max over in silent deliberation. Max was an astute man. Despite his poor gambling record, he had a knack for reading situations with uncanny accuracy. He had kept Georg out of trouble during his darkest years, and Georg trusted him.

"Come Georg," Max was now saying, "don't change your mind on me. I already got myself a position in Salzburg, don't you know?"

Chuckling at Georg's blank expression, he explained how he had already applied and been accepted as the new trustee on the Salzburg school board. "You yourself suggested it, you know," he added as Georg shook his head in disbelief.

Georg studied his friend through narrowed eyes, half bemused, half angry. When he had – however briefly – considered replacing members of the school board, Max had not been on his list of candidates. Even now, Georg had a hard time seeing Max sitting in the small Salzburg boardroom discussing anything as banal as student woes.

"You must be joking."

Max shook his head.

God, he must have been more intoxicated than he thought he'd been. "What's in this for you, Max?" He asked suspiciously.

"Besides your envious lifestyle, you mean?" Max held up his aperitif by way of explanation.

Unconvinced, Georg raised his eyebrows. "It can't be the money – being a trustee hardly pays what it's worth. Plus, you _know_ I'd lend you whatever you need."

"Too right," Max rejoined unabashedly. He took a sip of his beverage and sighed heavily. "I knew you wouldn't make this easy for either of us. Georg."

Something in his tone made his friend look him in the eye.

"You told me you didn't deserve to live."

There was an uncomfortable silence before Georg chuckled, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture for him. "I was drunk, Max."

"You're more honest when you're drunk."

"That day was an exception. I had a… bad day."

Max snorted. "I'll say."

Georg sighed. "You know I'd never consider it. It's against everything I believe in. Plus, there are the children."

"Yes, children who – in your own words – haven't had a father for five years, whom you don't know at all and certainly don't know how to help. I worry, Georg."

"I'm touched. You needn't worry about me."

"I'm worried about your fortune if anything were to happen to you."

"Both are quite safe, I assure you."

"And I worry about those spirited, lively, youthful Von Trapps of yours. You're getting to be a rather miserable, cantankerous old man. "

Georg pursued his lips, surveying Max. The idea of being back in Aigen was growing on him. He was a military man, and it gave him a sense of relief and purpose to have a course of action in mind. But the heaviness of having to do what he was about to commit himself to doing without his beautiful Agathe was almost more than he could accept. Maybe it would be good to have Max around. For comic relief. Plus, he _was_ touched.

"That still doesn't explain why you went and got yourself a job," Georg pointed out.

Max shrugged. "I'm beginning to think I need a change myself."

Sharp as a tack, Georg was onto him. "Is there trouble, again?"

"No, no, no – nothing like that. Nothing outrageous. Well, there are a few people I'm rather keen to avoid."

Georg snorted. At times, it felt like Max owed money to half of Vienna.

"I'm getting a little bit… bored. Restless. Looking for somewhere to be, things to do, you know – like the rest of you. I thought about getting into show business, but finding a suitable choir or singing group to manage isn't as easy as it sounds. Plus, I'd rather wanted to get away from all the commotion."

"Enough to take up a sensible, respectable post in the boring ol' town of Salzburg?" Georg goaded, but any venom long gone.

Max chuckled. "Technically, you invited me – whether you remember or not."

"Hm. I'm starting to see why you like me intoxicated."

"Ah yes, decisive, honest, and incredibly generous." Max held up his glass in a toast. "Well, it's settled then. Let's call it a trial run, shall we?"

"And if we fail?"

"Well, I will fall back on my natural talents as a charming sponge, and you – well, Georg, you never fail."

Georg was about to retort that the only reason he was even considering this arrangement was because of his earlier failures. His children deserved better.

He could give them that, couldn't he?


	2. Summer Days

Thank you for your wonderful and insightful comments! I really am itching to reply to them all, but I feel that at this point, my very limited time is probably better spent finishing and polishing the upcoming chapters (and catching up on reading stories!) - but know that every comment really brightens my day. xx

Just to clarify (as per some confusion noted in the comments) - Georg did NOT send the children to boarding school (it would break my heart as much as his!)

And now, without further ado...

* * *

Chapter One 

Summer Days

Georg returned to Aigen, Max in tow, half hoping the latest governess might have lasted the two days it took him to get home. That she might stay. That she might absolve him of feeling like he was balking at the door of a trap.

Forget staying. Forget two days. Georg groaned when an overworked Frau Schmidt reported that the new governess had lasted a mere two hours. He shut himself in his study, re-appearing at mealtimes, and wondered if there was a blueprint for sorting out seven unruly children. He made calls to several homeschooling and tutoring agencies, and half-heartedly polished his navy whistle he had used to call his children on his previous visits home.

He hadn't needed to use it yet. Sometime within the last year, his children had slipped into the routine of reporting to him every morning before breakfast without having to be called. Georg didn't know where they went during the day, and found he did not have a reason to call them.

Several days passed in this manner before his innocent children finally assailed him over supper. As usual, it was a mostly silent affair. The children were flanked on either side of the table, dressed impeccably in their clean evening shirts and dresses. Max sat at the other end, occasionally humming to himself as he made short work of his cook's excellent three-course meal.

It wasn't until dessert had been served that little Gretl piped up. "Father?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Who is our new governess going to be?"

He noticed the eyes of his other children dart from her to him, then quickly down to their plates. Max was the only one to meet his eyes, and he looked at him with a pointed little shrug, as if to say, _the ball's in your court, old man_.

Georg exhaled. "Well. You're not going to have a new governess anymore."

"We're not?" Friedrich and Marta echoed, and the others gaped at him. They'd had a governess every summer since – he cut that thought midway.

"You are going to have a set of excellent tutors," Georg said instead. "Let me see – two for your studies in the morning, and a highly recommended exercise instructor for the afternoon. And me."

Seven pairs of eyes larger than saucers stared at him in the deafening silence that followed.

"You, father?" Liesl asked blankly.

"Yes, Liesl. I'm going to oversee your summer."

There was a long pause. He saw the children glance at each other, saw the frown and answering headshake that passed between Liesl and Friedrich, saw the hope flitting across Brigitta's expressive face. Then – "how long will you be home for this time, father?"

Georg blinked at his youngest daughter. "What?" It came out more clipped then he intended.

"Gretl!" Kurt whispered, nudging her. The other children quickly looked away, but the tension in the room was palpable.

Gretl was not to be deterred, her small round face determined. "When will you be going away again?" She persisted.

It took him a minute to answer, to identify the surge of emotion he suddenly found himself struggling to hide. It was part exasperation, but greater part shame. Gretl, he realized, had never known a father who stayed home for more than several weeks at a time.

"No Gretl," he said slowly. "I'm not leaving. Not right now."

* * *

And so Georg stayed. Bit by bit, he found himself adjusting to life in Aigen, and the last few weeks of summer waxed and waned before Georg fully realized it was over.

Elsa wrote him often from Vienna. She had taken his sudden departure better than he'd expected. Of course, he admitted he hadn't exactly been the most exhilarating of guests in the preceding weeks. She'd kissed him warmly and entreated him to return when he had 'settled matters at home'. Neither had discussed how long that might possibly be. But as he pursued her letters, filled with breezy, intimate little details of her days, Georg got the sense she expected to be reunited soon.

"I've discovered the most darling patisserie, Georg," Elsa wrote recently. "You would love it. We could have afternoon tea, or sneak in late night dessert…"

Georg sighed. Elsa was certainly dear to him, but he'd discovered he found no pleasure at the thought of returning to Vienna.

Even less appealing was the idea of inviting her to Aigen for a long overdue visit, and avoided mentioning the prospect in his rather short replies. Georg couldn't quite put his finger on why the idea made him recoil. Elsa was a much sought-after woman, and he knew any number of men who would jump at the chance to have her grace his home. Attractive, graceful, and witty, she commanded any room she entered. But to him, Elsa's greatest asset was her generosity. Not in wealth, but in her time, her implicit understanding, and the space she had given him.

She never pressured him, never asked anything of him. She'd told him on more than one occasion that she didn't need him, and he didn't need her, and thus could give themselves entirely to appreciating each other's company.

It had been enough, when Georg had not cared where the road out of grief led him. And perhaps it would still be enough, once he sorted out his children. But if he was going to make Aigen his home, even temporarily, he had the sense that inviting Elsa into it would be a mistake. He knew Elsa's disdain for solitude was equal only to her indifference toward children. Her presence would surely take him so far from his already precarious resolve he may never find a way back.

Having braced himself for the worst, Georg found that between the children and Max, time passed easily enough; it was just a matter of finding enough to fill his day. He resumed some of his old habits – his early morning rides, his long hours in the study reviewing foreign naval contracts, his trips into town to conduct business and meet with the city council. Georg spent time with the children during the day, and evenings with Max in the parlour. Between the children's perpetual flurry of activity and Max's humorous grabs for attention, they largely banished the painful memories which once lurked in the silence and emptiness around every corner.

True to his word, Georg became a present figure to his children. He took his meals with them, had pleasant conversations with them, and presided over their morning studies with the new tutors he'd hired. He'd even taken over one of their history lessons, and was rewarded with seven pairs of eyes staring at him in rapt attention.

He didn't know what he had expected. Seven wild, inconsiderate, unmanageable tricksters, by the way their teachers and governesses made it sound. Certainly they were lively, but they were intelligent, curious, and respectful.

Georg might not have realized the children, regarding their father with a mixture of awe, excitement, and trepidation, were on their best behavior. He didn't notice how cautiously they approached him, or how much they held back.

But he did notice the time little Gretl scraped her elbow, and walked right past him to Liesl, eyes full of tears.

There was the time he overheard Kurt and Friedrich arguing over who would be the one to ask their father how to tie a tie. Georg had smiled indulgently. He may have forgotten about the request that evening, wrapped up in his study, but he remembered a week later when he realized neither of them had approached him.

Yet another time, Georg caught the girls hastily throwing items into a large chest when he passed the nursery. They weren't quick enough. He caught a glimpse of those dresses – dresses he knew so well he could almost smell them. His throat suddenly felt very tight, but resolutely, he pushed open the nursery door. He wanted to say, "those were your mothers," but with five innocent faces looking back at him, Georg realized he didn't have the words.

He let these moments slip by, accepting that he was the one who had set the examples; by never mentioning their mother, by never being present when his children had needed him.

He remembered the feeling of defeat the morning the tutor called in sick over breakfast. He was about to suggest that they continue their morning studies without her, when seven pairs of eyes looking at him hopefully gave him pause. The look reminded him of his own wild and carefree youth, a scamp longing for adventure. He felt a sudden rush of camaraderie toward his children.

What if, for once, he did something differently? What if he offered them the choice, to see what they came up with?

Before he could process this idea, Max suggested instead that he could take the children into town on some errands. Georg had nodded his assent. There was a part of him which felt relieved, but it was mingled with an odd sense of disappointment as he watched the children run off to ready their things, excited and chatting loudly.

He wondered then if perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps the children didn't need _him_ , after all. Perhaps they had outgrown him, these last few years. Grown older, grown apart, grown past the connection he'd once had with them.

And he wondered for the first time whether he could still get it back.

* * *

Georg couldn't say he looked forward to the beginning of the school year. He had grown accustomed to his summer routine, and the children were coming along so nicely in their studies under the tutelage of the three excellent and very expensive tutors. He wondered briefly if it would be better to keep them home with private schooling – after last year, Georg had the sensation he was about to deliver them to the mouth of the lion's den. And a part of him wondered if with the children gone much of the day, the house would once again seem much too silent, and much too large.

To his credit, Max had been working hard the entire month. Georg had never imagined Max would take his new role as school trustee with any degree of seriousness or purpose. It wasn't that he thought him incapable, but he was fairly certain Max had once told him that holding down a job was a prescription for death. He had expected Max to be pleasant and childish and charming and a very reliable source of comic relief, and bow out to Vienna's seduction of extravagant ballrooms and scandalous nightclubs once the novelty and excitement of the change of atmosphere wore off.

Instead, Max had plowed on. He attended board meetings he pretended to have little interest in, silently gathering information then swooping in at the right time like a bird of prey, his motions passing with unanimous support. He personally replaced half the school's staff and teachers by accessing the various connections he was so adept at forming. It was true, he still hated paperwork, but he managed to hire a local lackey to do most of it for him with minimal pay. And somehow, he did all of this while still finding time to make his way around Salzburg's social circles.

Georg was half impressed, half amused by Max's commitment, and found himself supporting his questionable methods with unusually good graces. When the new school year started, he resolved to give it and Max's new brood of staff two months. He reserved his criticism, sometimes against his better judgment. He held back, and observed.

There were changes he liked. Like how the children were now doing their homework without Frau Schmidt or one of their tutors peering over their shoulders like a hawk. Like how he started noticing his library books strewn all over the house. When he had questioned Brigitta, his most likely culprit, she claimed it wasn't her. He found out her siblings were pulling them out in order to 'look things up'. And indeed, whenever he saw them, they seemed excited and eager – there was a vitality about them that made Georg feel relieved and proud, and just a little wistful.

But then he received the letter.

Georg's first instinct was to crumple the teacher's missive in his strong grip. _THE most impudent, foolish, utterly inexcusable piece of correspondence –_

"What, father?"

He stopped short. Georg realized he had been muttering under his breath, pacing in tight lines behind his desk. Liesl, who had delivered the letter to his study, was still standing in front of him, watching him closely. He pursued his lips, and the harsh huff he made no effort to conceal ended in a whistle.

To buy himself time before he had to provide a reply, he held the piece of paper up in front of him and perused its contents once more. _Dear esteemed Captain_ … started the tidy and delicate script, and immediately he felt the anger and resentment rise again.

 _How do you do?_

 _I am writing to entreat you to reconsider your refusal to allow Liesl, Friedrich, and Louisa to participate in the highly anticipated charity musical the upper year class is putting together for Christmas. Your Liesl has the most exquisite voice and Louisa has quite a flair for the dramatic. Friedrich just simply sailed through his auditions, and the leading male role would be his in a heartbeat._

 _They have all come along so wonderfully since the beginning of the school year, when they refused to even join in our music class. I feel sure that you would change your mind if you could only hear them! They would be heartbroken if they could not participate with their classmates. I thank you very much for your reconsideration._

 _Yours most sincerely,_

 _Maria Rainer_

Georg snorted, pulling out the chair from behind his desk and sitting down hard. It wasn't even so much what she was asking him to reconsider – he'd glanced at and passed over the permission form for this upcoming play without giving it much thought. No, when he first read the short missive his eldest daughter had handed him, it had been the shock as much as anything which had infuriated him.

Georg had received his share of abominable letters from his children's teachers. After all, he did have seven, and between them, he'd received letters that covered everything from the children's homework, their behavior, requests for Frau Schmidt's cookie recipe, and all too frequently from female teachers who'd discovered that the child's father was none other than the mysterious, wealthy, and decidedly single Captain Von Trapp.

But nobody had dared speak _that_ way to him in a very long time. With a rueful half-chuckle, Georg allowed himself a moment of amusement that this impudent, small-town school ma'am had, after all, dared to speak that way to him.

The letter was fiery, he admitted. And he might even have forgiven the woman for her impertinence, if it wasn't for the sting. A sting made all the more cruel by the fact that he knew it couldn't have been intended – for how could she know of his loss, his grief? How could she know that after _her_ death, the sound of music had been the hardest to bear?

It had once been the sound of happiness, of love, of togetherness.

Georg glanced up at Liesl, who had mirrored his actions and taken a seat across his desk. She was looking down at her hands, tugging the tip of each finger in a gesture of nervousness that was oddly familiar. His breath caught as he realized – of course, that was exactly what Agathe used to do when she was nervous. And suddenly, there it was again, the familiar ache of love and pain. Of all his children, Liesl had picked up the most of her mother's mannerisms, and it seemed to him the older she grew, the more apparent they became.

Georg sighed. He felt that thinking about his children ought not to be causing him pain.

 _Your Liesl has the most exquisite voice_ … Of course she did. All the older children did. They had inherited their musicality from their mother and learned to love it because of her. Georg had no doubt his younger ones would, too, if only they had someone to teach them. He didn't consider himself a musical person by nature, but his wife had coaxed him into its embrace. Together, they had built with it a world for their children – a world that had come crashing down after her passing. The children never said they missed it, and Georg had assumed that they, unlike him – still buried under a mountain of grief – had moved on to other things.

"Liesl…"

His eldest looked up immediately, hazel eyes huge with expectation. "Yes, father?" He thought he could hear the quaver behind the bravado, and understood that she expected to be scolded. Perhaps even shouted at.

He sighed, schooling his face into a gentler expression. "Have you and the others been sitting out during class?"

"No-o."

"Did you tell this Fraulein that I… forbade you and your brothers and sisters from singing?"

"No-o."

"Well." Georg looked perplexed. "What on earth did you all tell this music teacher of yours?"

Liesl looked down. "Please father – it was at the beginning of the year. Fraulein Maria asked what songs we knew. Friedrich only told her we didn't know any."

"Hmm – was that all?"

She nodded her head, stealing a glance at him from under her lashes. Seeing his stern, appraising gaze, she slowly turned her answer into a headshake.

"We told her you didn't like us to sing," Liesl admitted in a small voice.

"I see."

"You – you used to turn away when…" She broke off as Georg closed his eyes. He remembered those days when Agathe's songs had haunted him, and how he had rebuffed the children's cautious attempts at merrymaking.

He let out a long breath. "You didn't have to… I didn't…" He stopped. While he had never expressly forbidden the children from singing, he knew that his actions had spoken for him. "I haven't heard you sing in a long time," he said finally.

"We-ell…" Liesl hesitated. "It – it wasn't the same, anymore. I haven't felt like it… much." She faltered.

"This – Maria? Fraulein Maria?" He glanced at his daughter and she nodded in confirmation, "- she says you sing very well."

He watched as Liesl blushed at the compliment – perhaps the first she had received from him in a very long time, even though it hadn't really been his to give.

"How are you all getting along in class, then?" He asked more gently.

"Oh father, we like it very much!" Liesl enthused. The hesitation in her voice disappeared abruptly with Georg's encouraging nod. "Fraulein Maria lets us pick our own projects. Last week Brigitta thought it would be fun to study something classical – Friedrich and I chose the Merry Widow."

"The Merry Widow?" Georg coughed weakly. "Is that appropriate for your age?"

"Oh _yes_ , father. It's the most fascinating and entertaining story."

"Undoubtedly." Georg smothered a splutter, and was rather aggrieved to find that he was very amused. "And what of this teacher of yours?" He asked instead.

"Oh, we love her!" Liesl beamed. Georg caught the involuntary movement of his hand before she could notice. He hadn't heard that word spoken in his home for a very long time.

"Fraulein Maria makes class so fun. We were all nervous about it at first – all the music and singing – but she started us from the very beginning. Right from the do-re-mi, you know. And she's so kind. She said right away she wanted to get to know all of us, and something about the way she just _looks_ at you makes it so easy to tell her anything. Even Louisa says so, and you know how Louisa is."

Liesl was so excited it took her a moment to notice her father's sudden change of expression. Closed. Pained. She backpedaled. "Oh – father, I didn't mean it like that…"

All of a sudden, Georg realized, the sting had a name. It wasn't necessarily that this woman had brought music – the very thing that had caused him unbearable agony – back to his children. It wasn't her high-handed way off running things, of assuming she knew better than he how to manage his own children. It wasn't even that he didn't approve of his family singing in public. The sting, and he had felt it keenly with Liesl's words, was that somehow, this Salzburg schoolmarm who had known his children not even two months, had somehow worked her way into their lives and their hearts, and left him as an outsider.


	3. The First Time

Life eased up a bit this week - so this chapter is posted a little in advance of schedule. :)

Lots of repurposed dialogue in this A/U story.

As always, thank you for all the feedback and support - it really inspires me to keep trucking along. xx

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Chapter Two

The First Time

Maria Rainer.

The front desk staff gaped when Georg showed up at the school's office the day after receiving Fraulein Maria's letter. None of them had seen Captain Von Trapp before. The only person they had ever glimpsed connected to the Von Trapp children was their dour-faced driver who sometimes came to pick them up from school. There had long been speculation on just _who_ exactly was raising those poor motherless children. When Captain Von Trapp strolled in, tall, stern, and imperial, briskly announcing his name like a waving banner, it intimidated everyone in the room.

But when Georg gave the name of the teacher he wished to see, the atmosphere eased considerably.

"Ah, Maria!" The stout secretary grinned. She glanced at her colleague, who responded with an odd expression, which Georg could only describe as half amusement and half eye roll.

"Did anyone warn you about Fraulein Maria?" A third chuckled.

"No." Georg fixed her with a severe look, and she faltered. "What do they say?"

"Oh! Well, she's a wonderful teacher… some of the time."

Georg raised his eyebrows, prompting the second staff to add, "you'll find it very easy to like Maria… except when it's difficult."

The staff looked at one another ominously, before breaking out into giggles.

"My daughter is very fond of her," he said stiffly, unsure why he was coming to the defense of a woman he'd never met. But he recalled the fiery letter now stowed in his jacket pocket, and it sparked something in him akin to how he felt when he fought tooth and nail for his country.

"Oh but of course – the children love her!" The second agreed. "And why wouldn't they? Half the time they take their lessons out of doors, and the other half the classroom sounds like one of those awful newfangled American parties."

"Of course," the third added, "it's also easy to see why the more… involved parents would be concerned. Very conscientious, you know." The way she glanced at Georg made it clear that she thought he was neither. "They would prefer someone more… by the book, shall we say."

"Oh hush," the first said, seeing the Captain's eyes narrow. "She's a darling, really," she told him, a fond look on her round, matronly face.

"Rather flighty, if you ask me…" the other two staff looked at each other, shaking their heads gravely.

"It's true – when I'm with her I'm confused…"

"Out of focus, a bit bemused…"

The way they were talking over one another was giving him a headache. Georg inhaled, and firmly repeated his request for directions.

Meekly, they pointed the way to Fraulein Maria's classroom. He thought he could still hear them stifle giggles behind his retreating back.

 _What foolishness_. He must remember to ask Max if there was anything he could do about the front desk. Georg knew and firmly believed from his long years in the military that any organization was only as good as its support staff.

As he reached the open doorway of the designated room, Georg caught a glimpse inside. He stopped short, all thoughts of incompetent front desk staff banished at the strange scene before him.

Was this the room? Was it even a classroom? The walls were plastered with posters and cheap prints of lakes, fields, and, he saw with a stab of familiarity, their very own Alps. A few semi-wilted potted plants were clustered near the windows. The desks were arranged in a peculiar semi-circle, leaving a wide expanse of space in the center of the room. Georg could see a small collection of musical instruments in one corner, and a large rack filled with fabric and something vaguely glittery sitting in another. In fact, as far as he was concerned, the only thing remotely reminiscent of a classroom was the large chalkboard along the front wall.

Seated at one of the student desks was a slim, blond-haired girl, head bent together with a younger boy, poring over pages of a workbook.

Georg knocked sharply against the open door.

"Just a moment, please." The girl's voice had a clear, melodious quality. She didn't raise her head, and gave no other indication that she noticed his presence.

Georg stared at the top of her strawberry blond bob – the only part of her head visible to him – stunned to realize the girl he had mistakenly assumed was a student was in fact, the very Fraulein Maria he had come to see.

He'd told himself he was here to see the teacher who had so thoroughly bewitched his children and request she rescind the forward contents of her letter. After all, the woman was out of line. Lecturing _him_ how to handle his own children! He didn't admit it, but Georg had also spent last night and the better part of the morning filled with a need to justify himself, a need which vanished the moment he'd decided to pay the school – and the teacher – a visit.

Georg didn't know what kind of woman he had expected to see, but the writer of the fierce challenge he'd received was vastly different from the slip of a girl that now confronted him. She couldn't be much older than Liesl! This fragile little thing could hardly be qualified to be a teacher. How on earth does she manage a classroom of students? Not that this could really be called a classroom. It was much too wild… and cluttery. And her attire! She was wearing an ill-fitted, dull-colored dress that was several inches too short, and he could see her heavy black boots peering out from under the hemline. No persons of authority should ever dress so insensibly.

At once, Georg felt a stab of sympathy and understanding for the ladies at the front desk. He was beginning to feel a little bit bemused himself.

His sudden confusion kept Georg from interrupting as she left him unceremoniously waiting at the door. It gave him a few long moments to absorb the scene in front of him, gathering himself from his shock.

He watched as she picked up a pencil, making several markings in the workbook, turning to the boy as she did so. He caught a brief glimpse of a long nose and delicate cheekbones. He couldn't hear what was being said, but he guessed from the student's increasingly bewildered expression she was trying to explain something without much success. Georg frowned.

Suddenly, Fraulein Maria sprang up, moving to an old keyboard at the back of the room like a whirlwind. The student hurried to follow.

Georg watched, increasingly puzzled, as she played a quick series of chords and arpeggios, gesturing animatedly with her free hand all the while. The boy paused, then moved up beside her to play another series of chords. He saw her nod, saw him run to the desk, scribble something into the workbook, and race back to show her. Fraulein Maria clapped her hands together in an oddly childish gesture of excitement. "That's right!" She pronounced happily. A wide smile lit up her face, and for a moment, her radiant expression caught him off guard.

Before Georg had figured out what was going on, the tutoring session – if that was indeed what it was – had ended, and the boy had charged right past him.

Fraulein Maria followed toward the door with light, springy steps, her gaze lingering on the departed student

"What on earth was _that_?" Georg managed. Something about the scene he'd just witnessed had left him short of breath.

She looked at him for the first time, the gay smile she wore faltering at the imposing, immaculately dressed apparition before her. Her clear blue eyes widened, and she halted mid-skip. It seemed to Georg that even her limbs had become more subdued.

"Algebra, sir." Her voice was quiet and formal. Absurdly, Georg found himself wishing she wasn't suddenly quite so… normal.

"And that display over there?" Georg raised his eyebrows toward the piano.

"That was an illustration." She said with a slight smile.

"… of?"

"… An algebra concept." Was she mocking him? Something in her earnest eyes suggested otherwise.

"You were using a heptatonic scale to illustrate a base 10 system?" Georg's eyebrows traveled up his forehead. Her lips made an 'o' of surprise. His quirked in amusement.

"There is geometry in the humming of the string, there is music in the spacing of the spheres." Her voice was solemn, but he didn't miss the wicked gleam in her eye.

Geometry, not algebra. But still, she recovers quickly. Impressively quickly. The thought gave him an unexpected jolt of pleasure. It was as though he were a fencer who had found an equal sparring partner.

"Pythagoras," he nodded, voice equally solemn. "Fraulein, I don't know what you did with that boy… it was unlike anything I'd ever seen."

The wide grin he'd already come to think of as her trademark flashed across her face, but she shrugged modestly. "Evan's a very talented young man – one of my most naturally inclined music students. Algebra is his stumbling block. It's _my_ stumbling block too, actually. I'd never thought to use music by way of explanation – it was a lucky try."

"The method's got potential," he smiled.

Fraulein Maria laughed. "It's people who have potential. Children, especially – you just need to find the way."

"Hmm. And you consider yourself an authority on the matter, Fraulein?"

She looked taken aback by the sudden chill in his voice. "Of course not, sir." A faint blush stained her cheeks. "Every day is a challenge and a discovery. The students teach me as much as I teach them."

"But you do think you're able to help them find their way?"

"What I only meant is that every student is different, you just have to get to know them. I have a family of seven siblings right now, and despite what everyone else seems to think, I never would have gotten through to them if I believed I ought to treat them all the same."

Georg realized she didn't even know who he was. They had been so caught up in easy banter that they had forgotten the niceties of introduction. The room suddenly felt very small, even though he was still standing in the doorway. He felt himself visibly tense, but Fraulein Maria seemed to have forgotten he was there.

"Nobody has taken the time to know them, you see…"

A different voice echoed her words in his mind, and a memory he hadn't thought about in years bubbled to the surface.

 _It had been months since he'd retired, and it was the first day she'd left him alone with the children. She'd come home in time to see Frau Schmidt whisk away the three younger children. Liesl and Friedrich were shouting at each other from across the room, and Louisa was throwing a tantrum on the ground._

" _Georg darling, don't panic." She'd seen the look on his face the moment she walked in on the mayhem. Her arm slid reassuringly around his waist, and she laid her head against his shoulder._

" _It takes time. You'll see."_

"They are each so starved of attention," he came out of the memory in time to hear the Fraulein say. "Their father – "

Georg coughed involuntarily.

The sound was enough to bring her out of her thoughts. Her voice trailed off and her eyes grew huge as she looked him over. Liesl's eyes. Friedrich's jaw. Brigitta's nose. He saw her note each feature with an absentminded nod of her head. The next moment her cheeks were flushing and her hands flew to her mouth.

"Captain Von Trapp," she gasped through her fingers.

He nodded stiffly.

They stared at each other. Georg felt he ought to use this revelation to his advantage, exert his authority, but he couldn't look away from her face. Her eyes were deep blue, pupils wide with shock. They lightened as her expression worked its way from surprise to embarrassment and finally, to questioning. By God, was she ever transparent.

On cue, she blurted, "why sir, you don't look at all like a sea captain."

He bristled. "And I'm afraid you don't look very much like a teacher."

Max had once told him that his scorn could wither a plant. Fraulein Maria felt it sting, and flushed pink with indignation. She drew back her shoulders, chin jutting stubbornly in a challenge.

 _Well, I am one. And you're standing in the doorway to my classroom._

Georg blinked. Her body language was as obvious as if she'd spoken.

"Can I help you… Captain?" She asked pointedly.

He slid the letter from his inner jacket pocket, holding it up for her to see. Fraulein Maria met him gaze for gaze. Her eyebrows lifted in invitation, but her face was determined and unapologetic.

"In the future, you will kindly remember that my children do not need a teacher to speak on their behalf. Especially not to their father." He emphasized that last word.

She looked surprised. Whatever rebuff she had expected, that hadn't been it. "I – I was only trying to help..."

"Do not forget that you are merely a teacher, Fraulein."

She made a little exhale of outrage. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do not assume you know how to help."

"I know a little."

He snorted. " _Know?_ From what experience? From idealizing?"

"Idealizing! Pardon me, sir! From empathizing! Perhaps you could give it a try, Captain – "

"That's enough, Fraulein!" Georg looked at her, hard. "I don't want to hear anymore from you about how to raise my children – "

"I know you don't, but you've got to!" Her forceful voice lashed at him as her eyes flashed. He stared. It was very much a command.

She pressed her advantage. "Now, take Liesl – "

"You'll not say one word about Liesl." Furious, he stalked past her into the classroom.

"You're going to wake up one day and find she's a woman, you won't even know her! Friedrich – he wants to be a man like you, and there's no one to show him how."

He stopped. "Don't you dare tell me about my son."

"Brigitta could tell you about him, if you let her get close to you, she notices everything. And Kurt! He pretends he's tough not to show how hurt he is when you brush him aside – "

He turned sharply to face her. "That will do!"

"Louisa I don't know about, but someone has to find out – "

"I said, that will do!" Georg towered in front of her. His voice was low and dangerous. "You may think you've found 'a way' with my children, Fraulein, but that does not mean you have found a way into the family."

Her lips parted. She took a step back, not as though he intimated her, but as if he had hit her. They were close enough he could see something fold behind her angry facade. She swallowed valiantly, and somehow, her eyes stayed dry. She would not look away, giving him stare for stare. "I have never presumed to be a part of your family, Captain," she said steadily.

She looked young, vulnerable, and it was clear his words had done damage. He had come wanting to defend. It had not been his intention to attack. Georg exhaled slowly, trying to reign his temper. "What goes on between my children and I is not open for public debate," he said in a quieter voice. "My children are to come to me if they have any reservations."

"Oh, but they wouldn't dare!" Her exclamation was a half gasp.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" It was his turn to ask. He hadn't meant to ask it, to indulge her, but the words slipped out before he could swallow them.

She took a step toward him, and her voice trembled with intensity. "They love you too much. They fear you too much."

Georg inhaled sharply. Love. Fear. Their conversation, so explosive a moment ago as she assailed him about his children, had taken on an intimacy he had not anticipated. And he suddenly realized he was not prepared to have this sort of conversation, least of all with this obstinate young Fraulein, with her hopeful ways and starry-eyed ideals.

It shook him in a way he couldn't understand. He wanted to command her to stop discussing his children, but from the little he knew of her, he sensed the comment would provoke rather than silence her.

"Fraulein, my children do not sing in public." He said at last. His voice was tight.

"Captain…"

"They will not be participating in the play – "

"But it's the school's most significant holiday event!"

"Well, it's a significance they'll just have to live without. And they know better than to be – " he glanced down at the letter, grounding out the word with disdain, " – _heartbroken_ over it." How could this young woman use such a word, when she must have known Liesl, Friedrich, and Louisa had known true heartbreak?

"But sir… they're _children_."

"Yes. And I am their father." Georg turned to leave. "Good day, Fraulein."


	4. Her Reasons Why

Beware VERY LONG chapter update. Lots of thinking. Lots of talking. I probably should have split this chapter in two, but the sections rather complimented each other (and Maria's voice somehow became very wordy in my mind :P)

Thank you so much once again for your dedicated reviews (I'm so sorry I have yet to reply to this round)! xx

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Chapter Three

Her Reasons Why

The town of Salzburg was beautiful. It had all the beautiful architecture and spacious gardens of Vienna, with an old world charm Vienna didn't have. From romantic avenues lined with whispering trees, to alluring alleyways adorned with shops begging to be explored, Salzburg was one delightful turn after another. She loved the beautiful river, loved the parapet of the castle overlooking the old town, loved sneaking in and getting lost in the manicured Mirabel gardens. But most of all, she loved the mountains. She had stared in wonder at the beautiful peaks of the Untersberg as her train pulled into Salzburg station, and, unable to tear herself away from its siren's call, had found her way up those mountains before she had even unpacked. There was something about the unpredictable gusts of wind in the fields, the laughter of brooks as they danced their way down the slopes, the sheer expanse of wilderness that made her feel confidant and free.

And free was what Maria desired most.

It was true, her new boarding house left something to be desired. She had taken out a flat in a cheap apartment, the small window overlooking a dusty courtyard used mostly for storage. The walls were old and stained, with patches of discoloration even her beautiful posters couldn't cover up. The floors were the creakiest she'd ever heard, and she was afraid merely walking from one end of the room to the other could wake the entire building.

And yet, there was still dawn, where she could open the small window to let in the freshest of mountain airs. There was late afternoon, where her tiny flat would be bathed in warm light from her west-facing window, and she could watch the sunset behind her beloved mountains. And at night, she could look out from grading papers at the clearest skies, dusted with bright stars such as she'd never seen in Vienna. At those times, she couldn't help but love her little apartment.

Maria Rainer has a small habit of finding delightful things everywhere she looked. She wasn't sure if it was something she was taught – she had vague memories of her mother and father as being buoyant, merry people – or something she had picked up over the years to get through the harder days. But somewhere along the way, Maria had learned that happiness was an active process.

She counted her lucky stars that she was now finally a teacher - teaching music, her most beloved subject, no less – in the beautiful town of Salzburg. But Maria knew that even if she had to live in a mud hut in the middle of the desert, she would have taken the position.

It meant that one day – not soon, but someday in the future – she would truly be free. Free of her debt to her uncle, which clung to her like a thick coat of dust accumulated over each year she had lived with him. Free of the feeling of being thrust onto the chopping block to serve his whim (she could only be grateful that it had been a kind, charming school trustee on the receiving end). One day, she would be free to start again, with her own earnings, on her own two feet.

Maria didn't resent the huge debt she owed her uncle. Ever since she first understood the value of money, she had known that everything her uncle did for her came with a price tag. He never lost a chance to remind her of what needed to be repaid the moment she got a job. But how she could resent him, when he had stepped in after her parents died to take her in? Without him, she would have grown up in the orphanage, instead of the little apartment she'd had with him in Vienna. It wasn't much, but it had been a place she could call home. And she had him, someone she could call family, whose resemblance to her mother reminded her that once upon a time, she'd had parents who loved her dearly.

Her uncle wasn't cruel, although he had a penchant for gambling, which often left him in a foul mood. They'd never had much money, and her uncle loved what little he had more than anyone she knew. He had adopted her, along with the rest of her family's possessions, and then proceeded to sell off every single item, save one. Maria had begged to keep her father's guitar, with the outcome that he allowed her to keep it but added its value to her growing debt.

Maria wondered if he had known that one day, this small concession would pay off for him. Armed with her guitar and her growing love for music, she had won her way through every music related award in school, finally earning a coveted scholarship to Vienna's Teaching Academy. She was surprised when her uncle agreed to loan her the rest of what she needed to put herself through the course, although twice he gambled away the money he had promised her, leaving Maria scrambling to make her tuition.

But finally, she found herself a teacher – no longer caged, but held by two shackles in the form of biweekly envelopes containing most of her meager salary; one to her uncle, and one to Herr Detweiler to help pay off her uncle's debts. Maria tried not to dwell too long on the situation. She found the cheapest boarding house she could, and ignored the sympathetic and curious stares that came her way when she scoured the charity clothing drop-off for anything she could teach in.

Instead, she threw herself wholeheartedly into teaching. Prior to college, anyone who knew her would have laughed at the idea of Maria Rainer becoming a teacher. She was generally acknowledged to be sweet and dear, but was just as frequently considered unpredictable, flighty, and at times, aggravating. Nobody could imagine her enforcing rules, when she herself could barely follow them.

But perhaps it was this very quality that made her such an adored teacher. She had a knack for winning over even the most obstinate of students. Her teaching was dynamic and imaginative, and she was exasperatingly persistent, making sure no single student was left out or left behind.

It was a different matter outside the classroom. Even Maria, impervious to negativism as she was, couldn't miss the way people studied her behind her back, taking in her girlish figure and dowdy clothing. She heard the gossip loud and clear from the front desk staff – parents who questioned her suitability, her background, her unconventional teaching methods, her unbridled _abnormal_ enthusiasm. She'd had to defend herself more than once to parents who assailed her after school hours, convincing them with dubious success to give her methods – and herself – a chance.

And today had been the worst of all. Her disastrous meeting with Captain Von Trapp.

After today, she wondered if she would still have a job.

Maria groaned inwardly. Why didn't she just listen to the front desk staff when they told her the Captain was a terrible recluse who had never once been involved with the children's school life?

Why, for once, couldn't she leave well enough alone and keep her nose firmly on her head and her foot firmly out of her mouth?

Oh, if it wasn't for the children! The seven Von Trapp children who had built a wall around themselves so obvious she spotted it immediately even though they were not even in the same class. They had contrived to make life as difficult for her as possible in those early days. Maria considered herself the brave survivor of several of their pranks – one scary incident which involved a handful of spiders in her desk drawer. It had taken weeks to get past their defenses – days of patient observation, gentle coaxing, sleepless nights, and a little bit of their own medicine. She would never forget the day Brigitta had sneered at one of her Alps posters and called it 'the ugliest thing she'd ever seen', and Kurt had chimed in that it was 'dreadfully gaudy'. Maria had responded by taking the entire class up the Untersberg that day as a field trip – and not one further word was said henceforth about her ugly posters. But it had been worth the effort. The children, all seven of them, had blossomed unrecognizably these last two months. They were a quick study, matching Maria's own love for music; sweet and lively children who opened up once they found that she not only listened and understood, but more importantly still, saw past the things they told her and let them just be children.

When she had questioned Liesl, Friedrich, and Louisa about the permission form for the play their father had failed to submit, all three had categorically and untruthfully stated they didn't care for being involved in the play. All three wore the same disappointed but resolute expressions that were much too old for their young faces.

She couldn't say precisely what made her write Captain Von Trapp the letter that had so angered him. Something in the children's expressions had reminded her forcefully of her own youth, where she would have been denied every opportunity that came her way had she not fought for it tooth and nail, and she felt a sudden rush of anger toward the Captain.

Maria had heard each child speak of their father at one time or another. She understood that he was strict, aloof, at times explosive, but mostly invisible, and had pieced together enough to guess that this shell of a man was very different from the one he'd been before his wife's passing. The children never spoke ill of him, only that they missed him. Maria could see how much they loved him, feared him, and to some degree, protected him – although it was a strange way to think about a decorated naval hero. The last thing they wanted was to see him hurt.

But God help him if Captain Von Trapp needed protection from and against his own children.

Maria didn't know what – if anything – would come from the letter. In fact, she had her doubts the Captain would even read it, or if he would care, detached as he was.

And yet he had. And he did care. More than she'd supposed if he'd thought that she was challenging his role as a father.

Their encounter had gone so well before she'd learned who he was. If Maria had been even the tiniest bit anticipating his visit, she would have said she understood why the children loved him as they did. Even though he'd startled her, standing like that in her doorway, tall, self-possessed, and – she couldn't deny it – handsome, she'd felt a strange connection to him that had made her feel both comfortable and oddly warm at the same time.

But when they'd started talking about the children, it was as though a physical gate had slammed between them. He had become cold, cruel even, and Maria's temper had gotten the better of her. And when he had made that stinging remark about not belonging in his family, Maria felt she could hate him.

Many hours later, his piercing barbs smarted painfully. But now that her anger had abated, Maria was filled with regret. Her behavior had not been much better. The way she had held what she knew about his children over his head filled her with shame.

She worried that she _had_ overstepped her boundaries, and perhaps his offence might have been expected if she had not been so impulsive in writing that letter.

What business did she have, lecturing the Captain about being a father, when growing up her only family was an uncle whose claim to affection was that he never turned her out?

Who was she to talk about heartbreak with the famously grieving Captain, when she'd never even known anyone close enough to lose?

* * *

"She did _what_? You said _what_?"

It was evening at the Von Trapp villa. Maximilian Detweiler listened numbly to the story, and sank back against the luxurious sofa in the big sitting room with a groan. The full tumbler in his hand threatened to spill. Max would have liked to put his feet up – really, he ought to tell Georg that this particular couch needed a good ottoman – but made do for the moment with the very fine brandy in his hand.

He took a feeble sip, watching his host with wary eyes. Max knew something was up when Georg sat stoned faced during supper. The children certainly felt it, the atmosphere so tense you could cut it with a knife – and a blunt one, at that. It wasn't until the wide-eyed children had retreated upstairs and Max had settled into the sitting room that Georg stormed in, face set and eyes glaring daggers, and demanded that Max see to the immediate relief of Fraulein Maria from her post.

Max had sat upright. "Good Heavens, _why_?"

Georg had muttered something about insolence – or perhaps it was interference – and lack of discipline. Max had pressed him, but his friend remained infuriatingly tight-lipped about the whole thing.

"It's halfway into the semester!" he protested instead. "Where on earth do you expect me to find a decent substitute at this time?"

He downed half the contents of his tumbler, feeling inexplicably agitated as Georg glared at him.

Max had meant what he said when he agreed to take on the role as Salzburg school trustee; he needed a change. That evening when he had found Georg drinking down his sorrows at the bar, Max had just escaped a meeting with a creditor where he had been physically threatened. It was the first time in his life he had felt… worthless. It was a terrible feeling – a feeling not even the euphoria of his exuberant escapades could soothe. If he was honest, he had jumped on Georg's offer for Aigen a little too enthusiastically.

But strangely enough, being a school trustee suited him. Max had once upon a time trained with Austrian intelligence, and he thought of the school system as his own little nation. He was a skilled negotiator, good at getting what he wanted, and loved the idea of being able to move players at his whim. And he routinely employed the one skill he cherished most – information gathering by any means possible. Max Detweiler dearly loved to gossip.

But somehow, by some imperceptible transition, Max found himself caring about the welfare of his Salzburg students, and the teachers he employed. It took him a minute to realize the stab of emotion he'd felt at Georg's angry demand was annoyance at how little his friend seemed to realize the consequences of that request.

Georg snorted. "I would venture _anyone_ could replace a teacher whose classroom looks like it was decorated by a child, and spends the year organizing frivolous plays."

Max was surprised. "How do you know about that?"

And then Georg told him about Fraulein's Maria letter, and how he had gone to the school and rebuked her in person – if what he'd done could be called that.

After getting over his initial shock – whether it was at Maria's bold move or Georg actually getting involved with something at the school, he couldn't be sure – Max watched his host, thoughtfully. Fraulein Maria had been his most unexpected and interesting find. He had known she was outspoken, unconventional, and stubborn as a mule when he'd hired her, and it didn't take him long after the school year started to realize that sooner or later, her methods would clash with the rigorous expectations Georg had set for his children. He just didn't expect it to be quite so soon or quite so… explosive.

"Look," he started diplomatically, "if this is about the play – "

"It's not about the play, Max. It's about discipline."

"Discipline?" Max's mustache twitched in confusion. "But the children are getting along splendidly!"

" – not theirs. Hers. I would think that to become a teacher, she would have acquired some along the way."

"Ahh." Max's expression cleared, and he smiled knowingly. Georg may be a mystery to some, but Max knew exactly what this was about. "So she challenged you and didn't run away with her tail between her legs."

"Max." Georg growled a warning.

"You've finally found someone who doesn't submit to you," Max restated, a note of badly concealed glee in his voice.

"I'm not looking for submiss – that is _not_ what this is about," Georg snapped. "The woman has a complete and utter disregard for authority."

"Whose authority, Georg?" Max raised his eyebrows. "This isn't the navy."

"I am their _father,_ Max."

"Nobody's contesting that," he returned calmly. "Look, if you refuse to let anyone near you with a ten foot pole – "

"You seem to be sitting a bit closer than that." Georg looked at Max, reclining comfortably on _his_ sofa, in _his_ home, drinking _his_ alcohol.

" – yes, well, I'm exceedingly charming, remember? Anyways, if you're going to be prickly about it, there's not much I can do. But perhaps you ought to consider letting other people into _their_ lives. It's not you and the children against everybody else."

Georg's eyes narrowed as an indiscernible expression flashed across his face – a mix of anger and pain. Less anger, and more pain. Seeing that he had struck a chord, Max proceeded with caution. "If you ask me, Fraulein Maria is doing your children some good."

"What makes you say that?" Georg's voice was reluctantly curious.

Max looked surprised. "You can't tell?"

Georg was about to retort that he couldn't. But he could. He had seen it, these last few months; how the children seemed more eager, excited… happier. He couldn't put a finger on it then, and concluded that the school year was certainly off to a better start. At least very least, there were no more grievances about their many misdemeanors.

He did wonder why the revelation should have made him feel strangely wistful.

But after his tumultuous encounter with the little Fraulein, he could sense that perhaps she did have something to do with it – something that had nothing to do with how aggravatingly confidant she had been in telling him off. Rather, it had been something about her – something authentic and wholesome – that was strangely reminiscent of the children. It might have been inviting, even, were she not so damn provoking.

Max, who had been scrutinizing his face, leaned into the sofa with a chuckle. "You, my friend, are remarkably good at shutting yourself in. So perhaps you missed it - but it just so happens that our delightful young Fraulein is remarkably good at drawing people out."

"How very… poetic of you." Georg retorted. "Sorry to disappoint, but her antics fell short – unless her objective was to infuriate me."

Max gave him a strange look. "I wasn't talking about you, Georg. I was talking about your children."

Georg pressed his lips together, and said nothing. Max was right. This was about the children. He was Captain Von Trapp, and she was but the teacher of his children. What Fraulein Maria did should not affect him at all.

"She has a way with the students, that's for sure," Max continued, as though he wasn't seeing the conflict playing across his friend's face. "I like her style – it reminds me of… well, me." He smiled fondly.

Georg snorted. "That's because you're a child, Max."

"And maybe that's what your children need. To be children."

Georg glared at him.

"What?" Max stared blandly back at him. "Well, regardless of what it is, she certainly has her own methods, and they're _working_."

Georg remained silent, his face serious, but there was a distracted sort of light in his eyes that softened his gaze and made Max wonder what he was remembering.

 _The method's got potential._

"I think you should let this one go." Max coaxed, sensing victory.

Georg leaned back against his armchair. Max was amazed at how he managed to make such a relaxing gesture look so stiff. They were quiet for a moment, and then unexpectedly, Georg chuckled.

"What now?"

"At least have her put on something more appropriate," he ordered, by way of explanation.

Max gave a bark of laughter that ended in a frown. "Do you know where she lives, Georg?"

When Georg shook his head at this unexpected question, he continued. "You don't want to see it. It's very depressing. And do you know where she gets her clothing? From that charity for the poor, you know – the one next to Nonnberg Abbey."

Georg's eyebrows disappeared above his forehead. "You're joking."

"Not at all." Max grimaced, as though her lack of wealth hurt him personally. "Actually, if I had let her go, I doubt she would have had anywhere _to_ go."

Georg shook his head. "Surely a young woman like that must have some family. Or a young man." No sooner than he said that he found he was unable to picture any young man holding a candle to her flame.

"An uncle," Max pursed his lips. "An old… acquaintance of mine."

"Max." Georg straightened, his voice suddenly sharp. "Tell me you didn't hire her because you owe a debt to her uncle."

"Quite the contrary. He owed a debt to ME."

"… he's making the girl pay it off?"

Max's silence said it all.

Georg groaned, tilting his head back against the chair in defeat. "You agreed to this? Does this Fraulein Maria even have qualifications as a teacher?"

"Of course she does." Max looked affronted. "She's a new graduate of the Vienna teaching academy. Graduated with distinction, I might add." He saw the horrified way Georg was staring at him. "Don't worry – I interviewed her and everything. Went through the proper channels."

"And you don't see this at all as a conflict of interest?"

"Do you think I agreed, Georg?" Max sighed, exasperated. "I do have scruples. I told the uncle I wouldn't consider it. But Maria – she stood there on the other side of the room, and declared she would. She wanted to, she said. She didn't mind paying down the debt."

Georg made a non-committed noise.

She had an uncle who had offered her like cattle to the first bidder that came his way.

Fraulein Maria, who had flinched when he had accused her of meddling with his family.

Something in him constricted painfully.

"She didn't say as much then, but you could tell she needed a way out. The uncle is a compulsive gambler – their flat wasn't in much better shape than her current room. And he's an… unpleasant sort of man. Quite a weasel. Tried to cheat his way out of his losses more than once, from what I can tell. What else could I do? I told her I'd offer her an interview, and she happened to be the most qualified."

Georg stiffened. He had worked with men like that – the sort of men who obeyed him on the surface and sneered behind his back. Who blamed other sailors for his errors. Who bought women drinks for the purpose of bringing them back to their cabins. He could hardly imagine how a young Fraulein Maria had endured such conditions. No wonder she felt the need to defend his children.

"Feeling sorry for her, Georg?" Max was studying him closely.

He hesitated. Exasperation. Admiration. Anger. Humility. He couldn't remember the last time someone had evoked so many reactions in such quick succession. But somehow, pity was one thing he didn't feel. "You don't?"

"I admit I did, at first. She all but avoided mentioning it to me, but she's got some sort of contract with her uncle to pay back the cost of raising her, or some such ridiculousness. At this rate, she's going to be tied to her debts for the next fifty years. I tried to release her from paying me back after I hired her, but she wouldn't hear of it. Gave me quite an earful."

Georg smiled reluctantly at the image of Fraulein Maria sailing into Max Detweiler.

"But somehow, I can't bring myself to feel sorry for her," Max mused. "It's hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn't feel sorry for herself."

Georg drew a breath. When he had met her, he had been annoyed by what he thought was naïve, misplaced enthusiasm. But now he wondered what kind of spirit had kept that unbridled optimism intact over what had surely been many long and hard years.

He was quiet for several long moments. "I'll give her a chance," was all he said.

Max smiled. "Trust me, I know a winning hand when I see one."

Georg raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure you do, Max."

"And most of the school board and at least half the parents agree with you." He shrugged easily. "But let's leave it to my trusty intuition, shall we?"

"Let's hope your intuition fares better than your gambling record."

Max's eyes grew comically wide. "Taking her side already, Georg?"

Georg paused, surprised. He wasn't sure where between her biting letter and fearless anger, her self-righteous yet daring crusade on behalf of his children, and the miserable past that had failed to shut her down, he had subconsciously decided that perhaps, after all, she deserved a victory.


	5. The Start of Something

Thank you all for your wonderful support so far - and the remarkable foresight from all of the comments. I'm so lucky to have you all as readers!

Without further ado, another instalment of the slow process of getting to know each other. ;)

* * *

Chapter Four

The Start of Something

It was a late fall afternoon. Rehearsal for the upper year class play had gone well. Pleased, Maria had opted to stay behind after dismissal to plan for the morrow's lesson, even though her feet were itching to be exploring outdoors. The setting autumn sun bathed the room in a warm light, and Maria paused in her lesson planning to admire the view. Her moment of unusual calm came to an abrupt end with a shout from the doorway.

"Fraulein!"

She jumped at the urgent male voice, the sheets of paper she was working on fluttering to the ground. A second later, Captain Von Trap strode through the door, stopping abruptly just inside the classroom. For a moment, they stared at each other.

If Maria ever doubted his looks as a sea captain, it vanished at the sight before her. He was a naval hero through and through, dangerous and commanding, and the sheer force of him rendered her momentarily speechless. The fact that his jacket looked slightly askew, and his hair decidedly windswept, only served to reinforce that this was a power to be reckoned with.

Neptune. Standing in her very classroom.

Maria took a breath, relieved to find that she still could. "Good afternoon, Captain." She made herself stop staring, and managed to arrange her features into a warm smile.

She had been relieved to find that she had not been fired after her disastrous parting with the Captain. In fact, Liesl had come into class a week later and excitedly revealed their father had given his consent for them to perform in the play. Maria was both surprised and grateful that he had relented – she had not one hope that she had changed his mind – though she spent considerable time secretly wondering why. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she had cast all three of his older children in leading roles that very afternoon. That she had heard nothing further from him in the last several weeks despite daily rehearsals surely counted as a truce of sorts.

"Fraulein Maria." There was no hint of reconciliation in his tone. He had come to see her with his sword drawn. Maria recoiled. "Franz just arrived home with the children. He reports that Liesl was not among them. In fact, she has not come home at all."

"Oh!" Maria bit her lower lip.

"Can you tell me, Fraulein, where she might have gone after rehearsal?"

"She and a few of the others stayed late, and…" Maria took a deep breath, feeling suddenly foolish. She hadn't anticipated that keeping Liesl later than the other children would worry the Captain. As a child, no one had ever kept tabs on her whereabouts that way. "Please, do sit down…" The Captain remained motionless, waiting. She steeled herself. "…well, somebody offered to see her home."

"What did you say?" The Captain, still standing by the door, paled. Maria wondered belatedly whether she ought to have made him sit down first, after all.

"After rehearsal, Captain. Evan offered to see her home, and she accepted."

" _Who?"_

"Evan. The talented young man you previously met…" Maria's voice trailed off when she saw the Captain obviously oblivious to her words, his face stiff with fury. Briefly, Maria regretted telling him the truth. She should have told him she had kept Liesl behind to discuss her latest paper. Or they were getting to know one another. It wasn't outrageous – she had discovered that she and Liesl shared many interests.

"And you allowed this to happen?" Captain Von Trapp's voice was dangerously low. Thunderous. Like a ship in the middle of a storm, she decided.

"Please Captain – "

"She is just a _girl_ , Fraulein."

"Captain – "

"A _young_ girl, Fraulein, who has no business consorting with young men, talented or otherwise."

"Sir! Please!" She cried, desperate to set matters right. "It's not what you're thinking. Liesl and Evan stayed behind to re-read a rather complex act they have together, and Evan was simply being a gentleman in taking her home. It was but a common courtesy! They didn't stay long – in fact, I would be very surprised if Liesl wasn't home by now." A fact you'd know if you'd waited a few moments longer instead of rushing here like a madman, she added silently.

"And what if something happens to her?"

Maria paused, trying to control her rush of anger. Surely he couldn't be so unreasonable as to be accusing _her_ of wrongdoing – but he was! She tried to remind herself that he was a father, with a father's worries. "Captain, I understand your concern – "

It was the wrong thing to say. The Captain's lips were a thin, angry line. "Do you have children, Fraulein?"

"What? Well, I – no, I don't…"

"Then you cannot presume to _understand my concern –_ "

For a moment she could only stare, speechless with hurt and anger. There it was again. That painful sting only he could seem to deliver. What _was_ it about this man? How was it that he always seemed to say exactly what would wound her the most?

"Perhaps not, Captain," Maria retorted coldly, "but at least I understand your children."

And maybe it was the same intuition with which she knew precisely what would hurt him.

The colour drained from the Captain's face. In the brief second that it took for him to recover from her attack, the look in his eyes was not one of fury, but agony – a look so intense the anger whooshed out of her as suddenly as it had come.

This was not the face of a man who was controlling or unreasonable. This was how a man looked when he was broken, and desperately trying to piece things back together. Maria couldn't tell how she knew it so acutely. Her hands flew to her mouth, stunned by what she had said. "Captain, please – "

Before she could backpedal on her cruel words, Annette, the stout, kindly front desk staff, appeared at the door. She knocked tentatively, uncertain what to make of the Captain Von Trapp and their young teacher staring at each other. If they had been animals, they would have been circling one another with their hackles up.

"If you'll excuse me, Fraulein. Captain Von Trapp." Maria struggled to find her composure as they both turned toward the interruption. "The Von Trapp residence just rang. A Ms. Schmidt would like to relay to the Captain that young miss Liesl has just arrived home."

Maria drew a breath, her ears roaring now that the tension had broken. She was suddenly aware of her heart pounding in her chest. She snuck a quick look at the Captain, and saw that he, too, was breathing heavily. It seemed to take him a minute to process the message. She was surprised to see a sheepish look creep across his face – up until now, Maria would never have guessed him capable of such an expression. "Very well," he nodded politely to Annette, "thank you."

For a brief moment, both were silent as they watched Annette's retreating back. Slowly, she turned back to the Captain. He was now looking at her, his piercing blue eyes guarded and watchful. Well, they certainly had reason to be wary with each other.

Maria exhaled shakily. "I'm – "

"You – " He began at the same time. They both paused, and he gestured for her to go first.

"I'm glad Liesl's safe," she said truthfully. She'd never supposed anything would happen to Liesl in the small town of Salzburg, particularly not with Evan – an outstanding young man by all accounts – as an escort, but Captain Von Trapp's alarming visit had instilled a healthy dose of anxiety.

He nodded, his eyes still on her face. "Yes."

Silence stretched between them. "Well," Maria said uncomfortably, when it became evident the Captain wasn't going to add anything further. "Good afternoon, Captain." Even though this was her classroom, and her half-finished lesson plan was still on the floor, Maria made to slip past him into the hallway. She saw him nod slightly as she turned away, breaking their eye contact with effort.

Maria shook her head as she started down the hallway, leaving him still standing in the classroom. Her breath trembled with nervous energy.

Yet another disastrous meeting to add to a growing list.

"Fraulein!"

Her heart leapt into her throat as her body tensed involuntarily. Her first instinct was to get away – she'd had enough confrontation for one day – but she made herself slow down as she heard the Captain's swift footsteps behind her. "Yes, Captain?"

"Fraulein." This time, his voice was gentler, the word almost a question. Maria stopped. Slowly, she turned to meet his gaze.

"I – I behaved badly." The words were stiff, and she had no doubt he had not used them in a very long time. "I apologize."

His face was as stern as ever, but the eyes that sought hers were entreating. _Please_.

Maria shook her head in a sudden glad flash of understanding. "She's your daughter, Captain. Of course you have a right to be worried."

"No – well, yes, for today," he began, then hesitated. "But for – for our last meeting, as well.

"Oh no, Captain." She had amends to make, too. "I'm – I'm far too outspoken. It's one of my worst faults."

"No – you were right," he insisted. "I don't… know my children."

"There's still time, Captain," she said eagerly, feeling suddenly a thousand times lighter, as if standing before her was a friend, and not an adversary. "They want so much to be close to you."

The Captain's fingers flexed involuntarily – a nervous gesture – and Maria tensed. Had she said the wrong thing again?

But Captain Von Trapp merely gave a stiff nod, acknowledging her words.

They both hesitated, as though there were things they still wanted to say. It must have been something about the large, impersonal space of the old school hallway that prevented her from saying what was on her mind.

But somehow in the silence, she seemed to say it anyway. And in the strange softness with which he looked at her, she heard him say it too.

 _I'm sorry I hurt you._

Maria swallowed nervously, eyes widening as he gazed steadily back at her for what seemed like a long time. He was the first to nod, and the first to turn away, but she thought she saw him smile a little as he did so.

It was enough to have her clasping her hands together with a huge sigh of relief as she watched him stride away from her, his steps precise yet graceful.

Surely that smile was a start. The start of what, she couldn't say, but she had a feeling it could be something good.

Something better, anyway.

* * *

Georg paused outside the door of the playroom, hand raised, about to knock. He had been hunting for Liesl since supper, with the intention of scolding her for her involvement with that boy. Whatever Fraulein Maria might think, the behavior was entirely inappropriate for a girl not yet seventeen. He had glared at her throughout the meal, but thought better of embarrassing her in front of her siblings.

But before Georg could announce his entrance, the sudden sweet sound of singing stopped him from barging in, and he found himself listening at the door. Louisa. His reserved, reticent daughter was singing, her clear, blithe voice carrying from inside the room.

 _My heart wants to beat_

 _Like the wings of the birds that rise_

 _From the lake to the trees_

A smile tugged at his lips as he heard his children harmonize the last line. Quietly, he nudged open the door, and peered into the room.

They were arranged casually about the room, forming a loose semicircle around Liesl. He saw, with a leap of his heart, that her head was bent over his old guitar, and she was coaxing the familiar melody from its strings the same way he had taught her when she was a little girl.

 _My heart wants to sigh like a chime that flies_

 _From a church, on a breeze_

He watched his youngest daughters continue the tune, while Friedrich helped them tap out the rhythm with his fingers.

 _To laugh like the brook_

 _As it trips and falls over stones on its way_

All his children were singing now, their voices weaving seamlessly together. He was surprised at his shock of pleasure over how _good_ they sounded. Fraulein Maria had been right – their voices were exquisite.

How long had they been singing like this? He remembered the evening he had told the children they might participate in Fraulein Maria's play, after all. Liesl had clapped her hands together, while Friedrich grinned from ear to ear. Louisa had flushed a rosy pink with pleasure. The younger children had begged him to let them be in a play, too. He remembered telling them they had to get their Fraulein to create one.

He shook his head. How had she managed it, that stubborn, fiery slip of a woman? She had single-handedly brought music back into the house without even setting foot in it.

The children carried on, oblivious to their father watching from the doorway, taking turns carrying the melody while the others maintained a perfect chorus. Unconsciously, his foot started tapping along to the music. It had been one of his favourites when he had been in the navy, reminding him of gentler, sweeter times, of his home in the mountains. Who had taught it to them?

Fraulein Maria. Of course it could only be Fraulein Maria. Even if she wasn't their music teacher, the song _was_ her, bubbling and unconstrained. He didn't need to see the posters of fields and mountains in her classroom to understand that even though she was from Vienna, she was a mountain girl at heart. He pictured his mountains, with its dizzying views, strong nipping winds, rich earthly scent, and her waltzing her way across them. He couldn't figure out which part of that he found oddly intoxicating.

 _I go to the hills_

 _When my heart is lonely_

Surprised, he found he was humming under his breath, the lyrics on the tip of his tongue. How well he still knew this song!

 _I know I will hear_

 _What I've heard before_

Oh yes, he'd heard it before. Could he, by any chance, hear it again? And then a pair of warm blue eyes were looking at him. _Go on_ , they seemed to say. Emboldened, with more abandon than he'd allowed himself in years, Georg pushed open the door and walked into the room.

Seven heads snapped toward him, and the music stopped abruptly.

Georg swallowed, allowing himself a moment of hesitation before picking up the verse.

 _My heart will be blessed_

 _With the sound of music_

There was another split second of silence as his children gaped at him, and he saw a look of stunned disbelief pass between Brigitta and Liesl. Then, as one, they joined in force.

 _And I'll sing_

 _Once more…_

Georg let the sound fade, taking in his children as they looked wide-eyed back at him. He held his breath least he break the spell the music had woven around them.

He didn't need her voice in his head to tell him this was the opening he'd been looking for, the proverbial bridge he couldn't seem to find.

Georg held out his arms.

Another moment.

Then Brigitta rushed into them. And little Marta and Gretl. Then the older ones.

Kurt began to laugh, and suddenly, the whole family was laughing.

 _There_ , he suddenly realized, tangled in arms and surrounded by the happy faces of his children. There was the connection at long last, the familiar closeness between a father and his children.

It was only the beginning, he knew. But it was the beginning of something good.


	6. Let Me Walk You Home

So life has been incredibly chaotic lately, as we just moved - forgive me for the late chapter!

Thank you for all your reviews, and as always, I love to hear with you think. xx

* * *

Chapter Five

Let Me Walk You Home

He was here. Again. Standing in her doorway.

Maria first noticed him as she was putting away the day's props. Even though she was partially turned away from the door, his tall, striking form was hard to miss. Or perhaps it was her heightened awareness to his presence.

Captain Von Trapp. The intensity of their previous two encounters were firmly imprinted in her mind, although she didn't know whether it was the intensity of their confrontations, or the equal intensity in that moment of implicit understanding they had shared in the hallway. Maria couldn't seem to shake the strange, visceral reaction she had each time she thought about him. Just knowing he was there sent her stomach into knots.

Her heartbeats tripped over each other as she set down the prop in her hands and turned to face him.

Why was he here this time? Catching sight of the clock hanging over the door, Maria felt her heart sink. She was late.

That afternoon's rehearsal had been a particularly good one, despite a tricky musical number. The students had thrown themselves into the practice, and it wasn't until almost an hour after rehearsal was scheduled to end did Maria usher the excited students out her door.

She gave herself a mental kick, silently lamenting her poor ability in keeping track of time. She was an _hour_ late in dismissing his children. Surely if Captain Von Trapp was upset, he would be in his right.

An apology bubbled to her lips, but faded as she looked over the Captain in her doorway.

He certainly didn't _look_ angry. His posture was erect, but relaxed, his comfortable stance suggesting that he had been there for some time. A smile touched his lips as he caught her eye, like he had been purposely waiting for her to notice him.

"Good afternoon, Fraulein." Like his posture, his voice was casual, low and smooth. Maria reflected that she'd never heard him speak in that particular tone before. She caught herself wondering what he sounded like when he sang. _If_ he sang.

Realizing she'd let the silence go on a moment too long, she offered a hasty greeting in return. "Good afternoon, Captain."

"How was rehearsal?"

Maria stared at him.

"Yes, Fraulein. I genuinely want to know," he quipped, correctly interpreting her silence. His lips twitched.

"Umm, well Captain," Maria started, trying to push away her bewilderment at the unusually chirpy Captain Von Trapp. "The students mastered a particularly difficult chorus today, and Liesl's solo is coming along nicely." Always honest, she added, "you must have just missed the children – we ran a little behind."

"I know. I saw them, actually." The Captain shifted. If Maria didn't know better, she would have said it was a nervous gesture. She wasn't sure the Captain was capable of being nervous. "They, er – must have gotten a little ahead of me. I'll catch up with them at home."

"Oh," Maria nodded. She was glad he wasn't angry about the late dismissal, at least. "Is there something else you wanted, Captain?"

He seemed to ignore her question, idly edging into the classroom toward her. He maneuvered his way around the desks, stooping to pick up a wayward bongo drum. "It looks like you're finished for the day?"

"Just about. I was tidying up." Maria scooped up the other drum, and he handed her the one he was holding. She smiled her thanks, and moved to put them away with her other percussion instruments.

It was nice to find that they _could_ be cordial with each other. She should have felt relieved, but instead she found herself oddly tense. Captain Von Trapp was… harder to read when he wasn't angry. He was polite, pleasant and unaffected, but there was an undercurrent of something in his body language and the way he looked at her that felt anything but casual.

"Ah." Maria turned to find the Captain peering out the window. "The sun is setting," he commented.

"Softly the evening came, the sun from the western horizon," Maria murmured. She stopped at her desk to gather her bookbag.

"…like a magician extended his golden wand over the landscape," the Captain finished from across the room. "Longfellow."

Maria nodded. "Longfellow," she echoed.

"Are you very fond of American literature, Fraulein?"

She laughed. "Not particularly. Do you know, that poem appeared on my Literature finals." She looked over at him. "And you, Captain?"

"I could be."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I've devoted a lot of time these last few years to reading. It was… soothing." He explained, not quite meeting her eyes. There was a subtle strain in his voice, as if the topic was painful. "American, European, Asian. I'm an equal opportunity reader."

"Oh!" She said vaguely, sensing he was clearly unwilling to elaborate. Growing up, reading had been a source of escape for her, a constant companion over the years. She wondered if he felt that way, too. Perhaps one day she would ask.

The Captain followed her out of the room, watching as she locked the door and slipped her keys into her satchel. As she closed the flap, he held out a hand for the bag.

"What are you doing?" Maria asked, surprised.

"Let me offer you a lift." He said it simply, but she felt her mouth go dry. She didn't know if it was because this was the first time someone was offering to see her home, or that it should be Captain Von Trapp who offered. The thought filled her with a trepidation she could not name, although she was sure he was only trying to atone for their earlier confrontations.

"Your bag, Fraulein." The Captain beckoned with his fingers.

"Oh, it's not far," she stammered, confused. "And I usually walk."

"Fine. Then I'd like to walk you home." If it weren't for the sternness in his voice, he would have sounded like a schoolboy. The thought made her smile.

"What?" He asked. She told him.

The Captain chuckled. "I was never that kind of schoolboy, I'm afraid." In response to her questioning look, he explained, "I joined the navy when I was 14 years old."

"Mmm…" Maria considered that. "Not many girls to walk home?"

The Captain made a strangled sort of sound, and coughed. She was about to ask if he was okay, when he managed to say, "no, no - not the sort that wanted to be walked home by schoolboys, anyway." There was sheepish yet amused look on his face. "Why? Am I going about it the wrong way?"

She blinked. "I wouldn't know," she confessed. "No one's walked me home before."

He looked at her sharply, his piercing eyes unreadable. She wondered what he was thinking, that made his eyes narrow and his jaw clench. As she gave him look for look, his expression softened. "This can be your first, then."

Maria hesitated.

His tone lightened. "A common courtesy, as someone told me."

She had to laugh at that, remembering how she had rebuked him with those very same words. How different things felt now! She gave him her bag.

"The walk back is an awfully long time for us to disagree with each other, Captain," she said slyly.

"It's true, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot," he admitted, slinging the worn strap over his shoulder as they started down the hall. "Perhaps we could try again?"

"Forgive and forget?" She offered, only half joking. As she said it, she realized she had already forgiven him for his harsh words. After all, they had been said from a place of anger and grief. She hoped he had forgiven her, too.

"I did say some inexcusable things to you I would certainly like to forget," the Captain acknowledged as they turned down the stairs. "But what you said to me – and what you've done for my children – I don't want to forget that. In fact," he glanced sideways at her, "I came today to tell you I had hoped it might continue."

And perhaps he had more than forgiven her.

Maria felt the quick pitter-patter of her heart against her ribs, even as she tried to hide her pleasure at his words.

She fell in step beside him. "If I could be of any help…"

"You have," he murmured, staring straight ahead. "More than you know."

* * *

Maria felt strangely self-conscious, walking beside Captain Von Trapp. She was acutely aware of how he adjusted his long strides to match her shorter ones, of his hand near her elbow as he guided her through a crowd of concertgoers, of his low chuckle of amusement as she bumped into him to avoid a particularly large divot along the cobblestone pathway.

It was all a little bit unsettling. Was it always like this? No wonder the Captain was against anyone seeing Liesl home!

He, on the other hand, seemed remarkably at ease, his pace slow and leisurely– the way someone would take an evening stroll about the gardens, she thought. Perhaps he did this often, offered to walk strange women home. Somehow, she doubted it, but not like she'd know how mysterious, wealthy men led their lives.

They walked mostly in silence. Without the comforting weight of her bookbag, Maria linked her hands behind her back. He made a few comments about the big fountain they passed in the middle of Salzburg's main square, pointing out its notable features as though she were a tourist. She remarked on the pretty laneway with the overarching trees as they passed underneath, before lapsing again into silence, although he, at least, seemed comfortable with it.

She could _talk_ \- certainly there had never been anything the matter with her tongue. Her words always seemed to fly out ahead of her thoughts, frequently landing her in trouble. But as she led the Captain toward her neighbourhood, Maria felt the inexplicable desire to want to say the right thing, leaving her nervous and tongue-tied.

Maria didn't know the first thing about making small talk with a gentleman. No one had ever offered to see her home – not that she'd ever thought about it – but she hadn't even had many intimate friends. As a child, her strained living situation with her uncle prevented her from becoming too close to anyone. She'd had a few girlfriends in teachers college, brought together by proximity and grueling coursework. But she had fast-tracked her studies, and it hadn't left much time for friends.

She'd heard a mentor say once that he always started parent-teacher meetings with comments on the weather and a few pleasant inquiries into the health of the family.

Well, her conversations with Captain Von Trapp had certainly moved far beyond the pleasant inquires stage. Despite the enjoyable exchange they'd had this afternoon, Maria had no desire to provoke another argument so soon. So really, that left –

"It's getting chilly," she offered.

The Captain glanced at her. "Mmm. You'll find that the air up here cools a lot faster than in Vienna."

"I hope it's like that in the summer too," Maria mused, thinking of the sweltering hot Vienna summers. Then, not wanting him to think her presumptuous, she added quickly, "that is, if I'm asked to stay on for next year."

He turned to look at her. "You doubt it?"

Maria ducked her head, not wanting to repeat town gossip.

The Captain caught on to her hesitation. "What is it?"

"Oh… it's nothing." Maria shrugged lightly.

They walked in silence for several moments. "Was it I who gave you that impression?" He asked finally.

"Oh no, Captain!" She shook her head emphatically. Sorry that she had led him to believe he was guilty, she added, "it's just a bit of gossip, that's all. I'm not sure many people approve of my methods."

"I do."

Maria smiled. "I think you're probably the only parent I've managed to convince."

"What do they say?"

"Oh!" Her mind fumbled over the words she had overheard. "They're not used to me, I suppose," she said finally. "Too unconventional. It must be difficult for them to adjust."

The Captain was quiet for a moment, lips pursed in a thin line. ""You know, Fraulein, my men said the same about me, too, after I was asked to command in the navy."

She looked at him, finding it difficult to imagine the sailors who could see the Captain and not have faith.

He nodded at her. "Too young. Too wild. Too unpredictable. Submarines could never be warships. My tactics would get the entire fleet killed. I heard it all."

Maria inhaled. Such high stakes. "And?"

He smiled wryly. "I did all right."

Maria laughed under her breath. How many times had she heard about the military exploits and many decorations of the great Captain Von Trapp since she'd come to Salzburg? 'All right' hardly began to cover it.

"They'll come around, once they see how capable you are. Like I did." It wasn't merely reassurance. He was throwing his full support behind her. "In any case," he continued, "I'm told you're quite popular with the students."

Maria looked at him in surprise. "You were told?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you forgetting, Fraulein, that I have access to seven first hand accounts on the matter? I daresay they're pretty good authority."

She smiled. "Your children talk about me?"

"As far as I'm concerned, Fraulein Maria is a household name." He chuckled.

Her smile widened. Those dear Von Trapp children! All her time spent winning them over had been worth it.

"This is my first year teaching," Maria confessed, as they turned down a narrow street toward the small square near her apartment.

"I know."

"How – "

"Max Detweiler told me."

Maria's smile disappeared. "Herr Detweiler talks about me too?" She asked uncertainly.

"Don't be too hard on him, Fraulein. Talking about work from time to time is inevitable when you live together."

"You _live_ with Herr Detweiler?" Maria's eyebrows shot up her forehead in complete surprise.

"Technically, no. He invited himself." He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. "The arrangement is temporary – I hope."

Despite his objections, it was clear he and Herr Detweiler were good friends, and the Captain was very fond of him. Maria wondered how they came to be friends – she couldn't imagine two people who were more different. Before she could ask, the Captain stopped and turned to her. Surprised, she stopped as well.

"Which way, now?"

Maria looked around. She had been so caught up in their conversation that she hadn't realized where they were going. Several streets lead off the small square they had just crossed.

"Umm…" She felt suddenly unsure, Her apartment was off the street to the right, but she found she didn't want him to walk her there.

She knew this feeling.

The Captain looked at her questioningly.

"I – I think I can take it from here, Captain," Maria said, holding out her hand for the bag. "You've already been too kind."

"It's nighttime, Fraulein," he objected, surprised. Her abruptness bordered on rude, and she couldn't blame him for looking rather hurt.

She shook her head.

"Yes, it is. That's what we call it when it gets all dark like this." His voice was light, but his eyes searched her face for answers.

She had to tell him something. But how could she describe the vague panic she felt at the thought of him walking her to the doorstep? It was the same reluctance she'd felt as a child, when she accepted an invitation to a friend's house knowing she could never return the favour. It was the same implicit knowledge her younger self had that she could never, at any cost, bring anyone home. A shadow of that dread had returned the day Herr Detweiler showed up before the school year started to conduct some items of business. The almost comical look of horror on his face had said it all, but it was impossible to feel panicked for long around the child-like Herr Detweiler.

But tonight, standing a street away from her apartment, the anxiety returned full force. Not even Captain Von Trapp, looking at her with eyes full of concern, could ease it – if anything, it made it worse. Somehow, there was a distance between her and the Captain that couldn't be crossed. He was Captain Von Trapp, Austria's military darling, head of a wealthy, aristocratic family, whose children happened to attend a small Salzburg school. She was Fraulein Maria Rainer, schoolmarm of said school, with nothing else to her name, who just happened to have a better handle on his children than most. The coincidence couldn't erase the question that nagged at the back of her mind.

If he could see exactly where and how she lived, would he think less of her?

"Captain – " Maria began, feeling that if she could not give him an explanation, at least she owed him an excuse.

Suddenly, the streetlamps around the square turned on in the gathering darkness, bathing them in an orange glow. As one, Maria and the Captain both looked up toward the flickering lights, then back at each other. The Captain looked her over one more time. Slowly, he slid the strap of her bag from his shoulder, yielding it to her.

She reached for it. There seemed to be a moment where he reluctantly let go and she hesitated before accepting it, for the strap slipped and the bag fell to the ground with a dull thud.

Flushing, she made to pick it up, but he stopped her with a touch on her shoulder so quick she wondered if he meant to do it.

"Fraulein." His voice was quiet. She looked at him, eyes wide, and found it hard to breath. "Max told me how he came to hire you."

Maria stared at him. So he knew. She felt a brief, unreasonable surge of resentment – whether it was toward Herr Detweiler for divulging her past, or toward the Captain for knowing. She felt a stab of anger and frustration at the past that seemed to follow her everywhere, and wished, for the first time, that she could start over.

The Captain was watching her closely. "That's why you hesitated, isn't it?"

Slowly, she nodded. "Yes, Captain."

They were silent for a moment. "I have a past too, Fraulein, as you well know," his voice was soft.

She did know. The Captain wore his grief as visibly as she wore her cast off clothing and salvaged boots. She had – embarrassingly, optimistically, ignorantly – gone to battle with him for it.

"It consumed me. Crippled me. And it still does, at times. But you helped me see that even such a past is not insurmountable. I've never met anyone who was so sure of it as you are."

Maria swallowed. Perhaps – perhaps they did have something more in common, besides the children. Something that couldn't be measured by any tangible unit. For here he was, Austria's decorated naval hero, telling her he understood. Telling her that instead of thinking less of her, he admired her.

Eyes bright, she could only nod. He gave her a small smile. A secretive, conspirator's smile. The line between them blurred. Slowly, Maria felt the tight coil of her body relax.

The tension dissipated in the cool evening breeze, and she heard the Captain exhale, like a sigh of relief.

He bent to retrieve her satchel. Silently, he held it out to her.

She took it, settling the strap on her shoulder.

"Thank you, Captain." She hoped he understood that it was for more than the bag. More than the walk. It was for his confidence in her. His acceptance. Something sparkled behind his piercing blue eyes, and she knew that he understood.

"There." His voice was gruff. "That wasn't so bad, was it? We didn't butt heads."

No, Maria thought. But never did she expect her small talk about the weather to turn into what it had. She had been quiet and on edge, and he wasn't much of a talker, his conversation short and clipped, but somehow, their short walk had revealed more than she had since her arrival in Salzburg. She was beginning to rather like the way they had confided, like they had skipped the customary cordial steps in getting to know each other.

"It wasn't bad," she confirmed.

His eyes twinkled. "Next time, we can skip the talk about the weather."

Maria flushed. She didn't know whether it was because he had called out her tactic, or because of the words that stood out. _Next time._

Then he said, "I'd like to hear more about the children." And she smiled.


	7. I Want You To Know

As always, a million thank yous for your support! xx

And without further ado...

* * *

Chapter Six

I Want You To Know

 _Let me see you home._

The words repeated themselves in his mind days after his walk with Fraulein Maria, made all the more significant by his surprise at how much it affected him. He hadn't intended to say them, that much was certain. And despite Fraulein Maria's notions of common courtesy, he knew he had not been motivated by any standard of social custom.

Instead, he had acted on what was ironically more _her_ predisposition than his. Impulse. Driven by a feeling he was unable to identify.

A week after Georg had surprised his children singing in the nursery, he had gone to the school for the purpose of speaking with Fraulein Maria. While he still didn't fully have the words to describe the impact of all she had done for the children – and for _him_ – which only became more evident each day as they grew closer as a family, he knew he owed her, at the very least, a formal apology. His behavior toward the young teacher who had nothing but the best of intentions had been inexcusable.

He had arrived in time to catch the tail end of their practice – of course, it would have run late under Fraulein Maria's rule, Georg thought with a rueful chuckle. He found himself rather aggrieved that this idea bothered him less than it used to.

He lingered in the shadows just outside the door, watching the students dance their way across the floor that Maria had marked out for a makeshift stage. He smiled to see Liesl, Frederich, and Louisa among them, their faces happy and carefree. He watched the girls laugh as Frederich gave a particularly comical groan. What character he was supposed to be, he had no idea, but Fraulein Maria clapped and gave him a thumbs up.

Georg watched her, long arms and legs everywhere at once as she maneuvered amongst the children. Even her heavy brown skirt seemed to float behind her. Her laughter and her voice filtered through the students', sweet and clear.

Something in her dancing blue eyes had made him want to call out. Made him want to be a part of the exhilarating scene before him. But Georg nipped that thought almost immediately. There was something about this young woman that made all his inhibitions slip a little, and up until now, it had clearly been for the worst.

Nonetheless, the feeling held him, made him step aside as his excited children raced out the door after practice, not sparing him a glance, even though the practical thing would had been to drive them home.

The same feeling had him putting off the stiff, formal words he had come to deliver, had him irrationally making excuses to linger, and finally, had him offer – like a naïve schoolboy – to see her home.

And she had wanted to _walk._ It didn't occur to him to refuse, although he had not walked anywhere with anyone in a very long time. Nobody in Vienna _walked_. And perhaps that was what had made all the difference. From his place behind the wheel, with half his mind diverted to navigating Viennese traffic, he could hardly be expected to spare a thought for the inane chit-chat Elsa's contemporaries inundated upon him. With his eyes on the road, he could never notice them like he had noticed Fraulein Maria, during their leisurely twilight walk. She had been unexpectedly flustered, quieter than he'd ever imagined she could be, but he'd noticed her beguiling mixture of eagerness and shyness, of boldness and of trepidation. He'd noticed the little details – how frequently she blushed, how easily her eyes conveyed what her tongue was reluctant to say, how her entire body seemed to still when he spoke, like she wanted to catch every syllable he said.

She had been completely and utterly disarming.

He found himself surveying her attentively, _wanting_ to learn more about her, and even more unusually, wanting to divulge pieces of his own past. Georg was surprised that he should find in her company a level of comfort and ease he had not experienced in either Salzburg or Vienna for many years. He wanted more of it. Craved it, even.

Perhaps Max had been right, and Fraulein Maria simply had that effect on everybody.

And so, that afternoon became the first of their many walks. Reticent at first, with the strange feeling that he might be imposing, Georg only sought out her company in connection with the children. Liesl had left her notebook behind at school. There was some paperwork that needed to be dropped off for the boys' gym class. Marta wished to borrow some of the school's art supplies. One afternoon, he found Fraulein Maria waiting for him by the door of her classroom, her face lit with a bright smile. He found his heart beating a little faster with the thrill of anticipation, and decided she was excuse enough.

Together, they witnessed the days growing ever shorter, watched as the multi-coloured autumn leaves overhead began carpeting the ground, felt the increasing chill in the air. Sometimes, they tripped over each other's sentences as they both talked at once. Sometimes, they walked the entire way in near silence. Sometimes they were playful, sometimes competitive (for they were both fiercely stubborn), sometimes thoughtful. They could talk about everything, and sometimes nothing at all. He felt a strange sense of freedom, as though, however briefly, they would cease being Captain Von Trapp and Fraulein Maria, and exist in another world entirely of their own.

Respectful of her boundaries, Georg always walked her to the little square near her home, before handing over her bag. Maria would take it from him, and they would talk for a few minutes longer. It seemed that each day, they became more reluctant to say farewell – he thought perhaps she felt it too when 'good evening Captain' turned into an impish 'see you tomorrow, Captain'.

Maria had, he realized, a wicked sense of fun, her sly humour frequently astonishing a chuckle out of him. She had an infectious sort of energy, and a lovely, crystal-clear little laugh he always angled to provoke. But underneath her bubbly enthusiasm – that he initially slandered her as undisciplined seemed another lifetime ago – there was a depth and understanding that drew him most of all.

True to her word, Maria talked enthusiastically about the children. Georg was careful to be receptive, biting back the snap judgments that, despite her influence, were still quick to bubble at his lips.

From her, he learned that Friedrich wanted to be a pilot, that Marta was ashamed of her poor arithmetic grades despite trying her best, that Brigitta was writing a series of poems she hoped to publish one day.

Georg learned that Liesl had written a composition about her mother full of happy, cherished memories. He was surprised and a little taken aback when Maria told him that Liesl had included a photo. Georg knew exactly which one it was as soon as she began to describe it – he had taken it himself, one memorable summer when Agathe had come to visit him in Pula.

"She was very beautiful," Maria gushed.

"Yes, she was." Georg went quiet after that, startled to realize that thinking of her was no longer the painful exercise it used to be.

He heard from Fraulein Maria the week Kurt got into his first fight at school. Georg never imagined gentle, good-natured Kurt would be the one getting into fights, but having been a bit of a scrapper himself in his youth, a part of him was secretly proud.

"Did you tell him it was wrong?" He asked innocently.

Maria shook her head. "I told him there are usually better ways to resolve a conflict than fighting, but something it's necessary as a last resort if you're standing up for something or someone you love."

"Other ways such as writing letters?" Georg asked slyly.

She blushed – a look he secretly delighted in eliciting – and laughed. "That can be a start."

"I'll say," he had murmured, suddenly realizing she was wearing a new blouse, for he found himself trying not to see the way the blush had crept down her neck to her collarbone and dipped lower still.

Then there had been that unforgettable afternoon when they had been drinking tea in the staffroom, waiting out a sudden chilly fall rain that had come over the town. Unforgettable because in all the discussions they'd had about the children, and all the progress he'd made, that had been the most painful and yet somehow, the most momentous.

They had been talking about the concerns that had plagued the children the preceding school year, of which Georg had received an earful that awful summer day.

"… And the tricks they played on the governesses…" Georg lamented over his steaming cup of tea, as he watched Maria rummaging in the cupboard for snacks.

She laughed, her strawberry blond head bobbing. "It wasn't just the governesses, Captain," she replied into the cupboard.

"What do you mean?"

Maria peered over the cupboard door at him. "Didn't I tell you about that time they put spiders in my desk drawer?"

Georg sputtered into his tea. "No. You absolutely did not."

"Or the time they placed a pinecone on my chair?"

He groaned, shaking his head. "Ah yes, the old pinecone trick. That was a classic with the governesses." The beginning of a smirk appeared on his face. "What did you do?"

"Jumped up and screamed," Maria replied serenely.

Georg laughed. Somehow, he could perfectly and vividly picture Maria leaping out of the chair with a squeal before seeing the offending pinecone, and he found the image oddly warming.

"Did you call them out on it?"

"No, of course not," she scoffed.

He raised his eyebrows.

"I said it was rheumatism," she admitted, smiling a little ruefully.

He sighed again. "I just don't understand how the children are able to play such tricks. Why do it at all?"

Maria slid into the chair across from him with her trophy – a package of ginger snaps – but didn't open them. She looked levelly at him, her large eyes serious and earnest. "How else could they get your attention, Captain?"

Georg's eyes flew to her face. Her voice was very matter-of-fact, with no hint of accusation. "All their pranks… their behavior, the poor effort in school – don't you see?"

He drew a long breath through his nose. "I see," was all he said.

Maria bit her lip at his hard tone, but didn't look away. He wondered if she was remembering their initial disastrous exchange, waiting for him to explode. But Georg was different now – he could recognize the truth in her words, as difficult as they were. Accept it.

She spared him the necessity of answering when she plowed on, a little more hesitantly. "You were wondering how they happened to be doing so well this year? You said it was me – and perhaps I did help things along, but really, it was _you_ , Captain." Her voice fell but her eyes fairly glowed. "They're glad to have you back."

They stared at each other for a moment. "I know," Georg said at last, his voice low. But he wanted to say something else – to tell her that somehow, they were in this together. Although he had come back to Salzburg with the best of intentions, it was her influence that helped him rebuild the bridge to his children. This moment belonged to the both of them.

Before he could begin to voice his thoughts, Maria said suddenly, "and I learned something about Louisa this week." There was an odd catch in her voice. "She – " Maria took a breath, then went on with a look of determination, " – she said I could tell you, if I got the chance."

Caught off guard by the sudden change in conversation, Georg only looked at her in inquiry.

Maria took a sip of her tea, and said softly, "she's afraid of thunderstorms."

"Thunderstorms?" Georg echoed, confused, still trying to step out of his earlier thoughts. The revelation seemed a strange thing for his fearless, daring daughter.

"Well, perhaps not _afraid_. The rest of your children are _afraid_ of storms, as I found out the afternoon when that sudden tempest broke out. We had to close all the shutters and sing songs about our favourite things." She paused. "But Louisa – it seemed to affect her more than all the others. She dreaded every moment of it."

"And you found out why?" Georg asked, curious. It suddenly occurred to him how little he knew about his second eldest daughter. He always had a nagging inkling that of all his children, she was the most like his in temperament – reckless, yet reserved; slow to care, but cared deeply once her walls were down. But he had not let her get close enough to him these past years to get past hers.

 _Louisa I don't know about, but someone has to find out_ , he remembered Maria admonishing him. And now, she had.

"I kept her in at recess and asked her." Maria nodded. Her voice was gentle, and all of a sudden, he was seized with a cold dread at what she was about to tell him. "The week before Baroness Von Trapp became ill, there was a storm. Louisa said you were away for business."

He remembered that week well. It was unlikely he would ever forget it.

"She loved rain, and wanted to play. Your wife took the girls out, splashing in puddles and dancing in the rain."

Georg stared at her. He'd never heard this story.

"Then Marta got sick. Then the Baroness."

"But – scarlet fever… the rain has nothing to do with – "

"Louisa was a child. She didn't know – she blamed herself very much for her mother's death." Maria's voice was a whisper, swallowed by the open room.

" _Blamed herself_?" Georg repeated, white-lipped. He felt sick.

"Yes, Captain. She knows now that it isn't true, of course, but sometimes, I think the guilt still torments her, especially when it rains."

Guilt. Did he ever know about guilt. How he had not been there when Agathe fell ill. How he had not been able to save her. How his love had not been enough. How he still lived but she was gone. And recently, how thoroughly he had abandoned the children. Abandoned Louisa – with her dreadful secret and undeserved _guilt_ , allowed her to become angry, withdrawn, boisterious by turn. How he had failed her. "I never knew…" he murmured helplessly.

And suddenly, there it was again. The overwhelming grief and sorrow that surged from the depths of his chest that left him struggling for breath. A despair which had consumed him after his wife's death, magnified now by Louisa's pain. A despair that threatened to crush him. A despair that demanded instant oblivion. But instead of liquor, all he had now was a cup of tea and the young woman sitting in mute sympathy in front of him.

The understanding in her sad, limpid eyes held him and somehow, kept him from coming entirely undone.

"Agathe – she was…" He started, and swallowed. "When she died, I was…" He found he couldn't continue.

And yet, somehow, he wanted her to know.

He wanted her to know the years he had spent, wanting nothing more than to live in the past, yet afraid even the smallest memory might just break him.

He wanted her to know that he would have given anything to have just a little more time with his beloved. Anything, including the rest of his life.

He wanted her to know of the empty years that stretched ahead, years where he would always wonder just how they might have filled them, together.

He wanted her to know everything.

A part of him was surprised when she reached across the table and took his hand in hers, the back of his hand warm against her palm. Her eyes were huge and full of anguish, as though his pain had become hers. As though she did know.

They sat there, in the old staffroom, and Georg grasped onto the comforting pressure of her hand and let the wave of despair crash over him, then slowly recede. It was like coming out of shell shock, dazed and numb, as the crushing heaviness in his chest faded into a dull ache.

Harder. Much harder than oblivion.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He returned it, but couldn't quite manage a smile.

"How do you do it, Maria?" He asked quietly.

"Do what?"

"Get through moments… like these." He knew of her parents' passing – from the same fever that had taken his wife – when she was very young. He knew of her miserable childhood. In a world that had been less than kind to her, Maria was remarkable.

"Well," Maria started, elfin face thoughtful. "I learned to use a trick I taught your children, when they're sad or scared. I try to think of something good. My favourite things. A happy memory."

"Hmm – and does that work?" This time, he did manage something that could pass for a smile.

"Mm-hmm."

"Tell me something good."

"Now, Captain?"

"Yes."

"Well," she started again. "My happiest memory was when I was a young girl. My mother would sweep me up and lift me onto her feet, and we would dance around the room in circles to the sound of a fiddle. I think my father was the one playing it. I can't be sure, but I'd like to think so."

Maria sounded content, but Georg couldn't suppress a twinge of sadness for the extraordinary woman in front of him whose most precious memory had occurred so long ago.

"Also, I like mittens." Her face was a mask of seriousness.

"Mittens? Those are your favourite things?"

"Mm-hmm. The warm, woolen kind."

"What else?" He asked, a touch of humour returning to his voice.

"Bells."

"What kind of bells?" He inquired, his smile broadening.

"Doorbells. Sleigh bells. Church bells. Any kind."

"Anything else?"

"Strudel. Schnitzel."

"With noodle?"

"Of course." She grinned, and he had to chuckle. "Now you, Captain," she encouraged him.

"Hmm? Me?"

She nodded eagerly.

"Err. Horses. Edelweiss." Georg paused. "This? I like this. Afternoon tea."

Maria glowed. "With jam?" She added mischievously.

"Yes. Tea and jam. Next time, I'll bring the jam."

They both laughed. And when the rain finally stopped, he walked her to the square by her home. It was that afternoon – one filled with despair, but also the knowledge that it could be overcome – that he felt something shift.

Perhaps, maybe, finally, truly, he was ready to start again.


	8. Where is Fraulein Maria?

And finally, we've reached the "Meet Cute" I originally started with! I'm so excited! Haha.

Unfortunately, this fast update will have to make up for a bit of a hiatus I will be taking over the next month or so. I'm opening a new office IRL, and while exciting, I am swamped and overwhelmed. (Would love love love all reviews at this time as they certainly uplift my spirits! ;) A million thanks for your support, and I promise not to be too long!

* * *

Chapter Seven

Where is Fraulein Maria?

It was an unusually quiet Saturday at the villa.

Franz had taken the children to school early in the morning. The opening night of Fraulein Maria's play was a mere week away – Georg had been the first to buy his tickets, right after Maria had told him they were ready – and the older children had arranged to meet their Fraulein and the others at the auditorium to work on stage sets and props for the play. The younger ones had begged to go along, and he had relented.

Georg thought wryly that he would never have imagined a day where his children would be begging to go to school, and on a weekend, at that, or how much he would miss the lively whirlwind around the house. He wondered for a heartbeat whether it would be inappropriate for him to meet them at the school, then felt foolish that a grown man couldn't occupy himself for a few hours without the children – or their Fraulein – around. For God sakes, he had work to do.

To be sure, Max was around. Georg could make out his faint whistling through one of the open doors along the hallway. He spied the other man in the dining room, still sitting at the large table strewn with remnants of breakfast. He looked relaxed, whistling under his breath, drumming his fingers on the table next to a generous tumbler of what looked suspiciously like his finest scotch.

Georg smirked. "Are you planning to pair that with the tart or the strudel, Max?" He wandered into the room, and resumed his seat at the table that he had vacated not an hour earlier.

Max looked up in surprise, before a knowing smile spread across his face. "Ah-ha Georg… bored, are we?"

He ignored the comment, gesturing to the maid to bring him another cup of coffee. "What are you doing?"

"Relaxing. Leisurely enjoying my breakfast." Max leaned into the chair's plush back with a sigh of pleasure. "Perhaps followed by a little cat nap. Nothing better on a chilly day like this."

Georg sipped his coffee. "You've finally decided on someone, then?" He knew the school's vice principle had unexpectedly resigned the previous week, claiming the stress of the job had given him high blood pressure. Max had complained the sudden vacancy had driven up _his_ blood pressure as the board scrambled for a replacement.

Max nodded. "A young chap from Graz. He starts next week, poor soul."

"The board decided against promoting one of the teachers, after all?" Georg inquired with interest. He was certain Max had told him that was the preferred option not two days ago.

Max sighed and shook his head. "No – you know only three of the teachers are qualified." He ticked them off his fingers. "Frau Wagner, Herr Pfeifer, Fraulein Rainer - Maria. But Wagner is close to retirement and Pfeifer cares too much about maintaining appearances to be of any use at all."

"And what about Maria?" He asked, a little too casually, not entirely liking the shrewd look Max threw his way.

Max sighed in exasperation. "Half the board would mutiny if anyone so much as hinted at _her_ promotion."

Georg's eyes narrowed. "Why? Don't they know she's qualified?" He asked coldly.

"Doesn't matter." For the first time, Georg detected a note of bitterness in his usually affable friend. Max raised his voice in a perfect nasal imitation of his colleagues and he ran through a ticker tape of accusations. "Too young! Too pretty! Too shabby! Too poor! Too frivolous! Full of silly notions! Too much music! Looks like something the rat dragged in!"

Georg missed what Max said next as he fought down a wave of rage at that last comment. He pictured her eager, sparkling eyes. Her rosy, telltale flush. Her delicate profile that belied her incredible strength. Her golden hair that so appropriately framed her innocent face like a halo. Was everyone blind?

"…Too disruptive. No sense of duty..."

Georg gritted his teeth. What garbage. Maria, he knew, had a _very_ strong sense of duty, an unshakable belief in doing what she felt was right. In fact, when he was finally able to set aside his prejudice against her, it was breathtaking. She had the same conviction that led men to willingly die on the battlefield and women to forsake a comfortable life for the convent. It was that sense of duty that had her braving his wrath to bring him back to his children. It was the same sense of duty that had her telling him about Louisa even though she must have known how it would hurt. She hadn't witnessed the reward, but he had told her about it.

 _It was early evening, and Louisa stood in front of his desk, her face pale with worry at why he had called her into his office._

 _He himself was nervous. How should he begin? What should he say? How could he reassure her? He had played their conversation out a hundred times in his head before he had called for her, and still he didn't know._

 _He studied her blue eyes, so like his own, her set, determined lips – Agathe's lips – and her proud nose, strangely reminiscent of Maria. They stared at each other for a minute._

" _I miss her too," he said, startling even himself. He watched her eyes fill with tears. He couldn't remember whether he had walked around the table or if she had charged at him – maybe a little bit of both – but he remembered that he had her in his arms, that she was crying, that he held her like he did when she was a little girl. He remembered how they had talked until nearly dawn, sitting comfortably in his study, when he had gone hunting for a blanket only to find her sound asleep on the couch upon his return._

Georg exhaled. He owed his life to her sense of duty.

"… Always keeping the children late. Always showing up late for teachers meetings…"

The rage had died down to indignation on behalf of the bright and vivacious girl who had fought for her place every step of the way. Surely the world must be running out of excuses.

"… Seducing the parents…"

"What?" The unpleasant innuendo brought his focus sharply back to Max, who looked startled for a minute as he came out of his tirade. "Georg." He held up a placating hand as he realized what he'd said.

"Say that again." His voice was cold and furious.

"They know nothing," Max said calmly. "It's just talk."

"We've done nothing," Georg returned flatly.

Max raised his eyebrows. Georg knew he was thinking of the many days he had gotten home well after dark, having walked Maria home then back to his car, before making the half-hour drive back to Aigen. He knew the kind of restraint it had taken Max not to ask what he wanted to ask, and knew it was only out of the respect he had for both him and Maria.

"We just talk, that's all," he said now. He was largely relieved that they had truly done nothing that could be considered impropriety – in fact, he remembered the way Maria had all but jumped into a puddle the time he'd taken her elbow to try and prevent her from stepping into the same puddle – and yet…

Max shook his head, worrying the bridge of his nose with his thumb. "I suppose I should just count myself lucky you two aren't jumping at each others throats anymore and call it a day." He chuckled wearily. "But certain people have noticed. Certain middle-aged widows, especially."

Caught off guard, Georg snorted.

"I'm serious, Georg. Perhaps you haven't noticed – but you're very wealthy. Mysterious. And decidedly single. Women have noticed for years. They would have thrown themselves freely at you if you hadn't been so oblivious to it. It was one thing when you appeared together with Elsa. But Maria? A pretty young nobody from the slums of Vienna?" He held up his hands as Georg opened his mouth. "I know, I know, but that's what they'll see – especially if she's… consorting with the very elusive, very _desirable_ Captain Von Trapp."

"We are not _consorting_ ," Georg ground through his teeth. "It's not like that."

"Not at all?" Max said, unable to help himself. "Not even a teeny, weeny bit?"

"No."

The look of self-denial on Max's face was comical, and Georg had to laugh.

"Fine," the other man said petulantly, but his eyes were serious as he continued. "But whatever you do with her, be careful, Georg. She's on thin ice. And it only takes one self-righteous person who feels jilted or betrayed to crack it and she'll fall right through." He smiled grimly. "And it's certainly not _your_ virtue I'm worried about."

Before Georg could answer that all of this was ridiculous, the phone rang. A moment later, Frau Schmidt appeared at the door. "It's Liesl, Captain."

"Liesl?" He repeated with a worried frown. He exchanged a glance with Max, who shrugged, before excusing himself to answer the call.

"Father?" His daughter sounded frantic, and he knew immediately something was wrong. "Oh Father!"

"Liesl? What's the matter? Is someone hurt?"

"Oh Father, we're all so worried. Fraulein Maria hasn't arrived yet. She said for us to meet her in the auditorium at nine. It's almost 11."

He considered this _._ He wouldn't put it past Maria to lose track of time, but his mind refused to entertain the idea that she'd stand up the children.

"Could she be at home? Ill?" He wondered.

"No, no - we checked. Arnold just got back from Fraulein Maria's apartment, and her landlord said she left hours ago."

"What about at the department store, maybe getting supplies?" He offered, refusing to be perturbed.

"We didn't check there – it's on the other side of town," Liesl admitted. "But Fraulein Maria said she's gotten everything she needed during the week." She sounded close to tears.

"It's okay, Liesl," Georg said calmly. "Here's what we'll do. Make sure none of you leave the property. I'll take the car and come for you, then we can drive around to check."

"Do – do you think she could be lost?" Liesl's voice was small.

"Lost? Salzburg is a small town."

"No – I mean on the mountains."

"Why would you think that?" He asked, sharply.

"She – she like going there. Maybe she went exploring?"

A ripple of anxiety went through him. Maria wouldn't… would she? "Don't worry Liesl," he said. "Fraulein Maria is a grown woman, she'll be fine. She probably just got held up by something."

Liesl murmured her agreement, and although Georg tried his best to reassure her, he could tell she still sounded skeptical. He promised he would be there soon and hung up.

Max looked up as he re-entered the dining room. "The children say Fraulein Maria didn't show up at school," he announced without preamble.

"Oh?" Max's eyebrows lifted, and he frowned. _Always late for teacher's meetings…_ Georg wondered suddenly if Max was affected at all by the many complaints against her. "That's unusual," he commented at last.

Georg nodded. "I'm going to get them."

"Are you going to look for her?" Max wanted to know, standing now.

He nodded again, but before he could respond, the telephone interrupted them once more, and they both paused. Frau Schmidt appeared at the door moments later.

"Captain. Herr Detweiler." Her voice was strained. Both men looked at her. "It's Friedrich. He wants you to know he just searched around the school grounds, and the dory that is usually on the riverbank is floating downstream in the middle of the river, waterlogged." She paused. "He says the girls are in hysterics. They are afraid Fraulein Maria has drowned."

Georg's first thought was that the very notion was ridiculous. Despite his years of training and experience in thoroughly and calmly assessing dangerous situations, he could only think one thing. _No_. He and Max turned to each other. Georg knew the small river that ran below the school. It was a lazy thing that eventually emptied into the Salzach, but was nonetheless quite deep in some areas. If Maria –

"She wouldn't just take a boat out into the middle of the river," Max said out loud.

But, Georg realized, that was just the sort of thing Maria might do. And from the worried look Max was wearing, he knew it too. Could she even swim? Where would she have learned, having lived her entire young life in landlocked Vienna? Worry and reason warred inside him as he tried to assess if they were overreacting.

"Captain, should I call the police? Have them send a search team? Drag the river?" Frau's efficient voice broke into his thoughts.

 _Drag the river._ Involuntarily, he shuddered. What would he do if they actually found her?

He looked at Max again. His mind felt slow, drugged, and there was a strange sort of static in his ears. It took him a minute to place the feeling – he had built his career out of not letting it get to him - panic.

Max looked wary. "If word gets out…"

"Reputation be damned, I'm not going to let her die," he snapped.

Taking that as an affirmative, Frau Schmidt left to make the call. Georg and Max joined her a minute later.

"No answer," she said, and dialed again. After a few moments, she shook her head. "Still no answer."

"Probably sleeping in on a Saturday," Max muttered under his breath. "Or fishing. I hear policemen are partial to fishing."

The sudden sound of Georg slamming his first against the desk made the other two jump. He looked livid, his nostrils flaring and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I'm not going to just stand here and wait," he snarled.

* * *

Max hurried alongside the Captain as he strode silently along the lake.

After abruptly exiting the house, Max had followed him to the car, getting in (against his better judgment) as Georg slammed on the gas. A sharp, squealing turn later, they were shooting down the dusty lane toward the lake at the back of the estate.

Once the car had come to a skidding stop, Georg was out before Max could even get his door open.

"Georg, what are we doing?"

"I'm going to find her."

Max glanced at Georg's hard, angry face and thought he wouldn't put it past him to bang on every door in Salzburg until he found her. "Where are we going?"

"The boathouse."

Max stopped abruptly. "You can't be serious," he called to Georg's back.

"I am very serious, Max."

He was once again forced to hurry as the Captain made for the small building perched by the lake, where the Von Trapps kept their boating supplies. Max watched in bemusement as Georg wrenched open the door, disappeared inside, and appeared a moment later supporting a C-2 canoe over his shoulders.

He gave Georg and his canoe a wide berth as he tailed them silently back to the car. Georg aligned the craft with the roof, and turned his head to give him a look that plainly said, _are you going to help, or what_?

Max sighed. Did he even have a choice in the matter? He walked around the car to help Georg position and secure the canoe onto the roof.

"Max, pick up the children, will you?" Georg said as he slid into the driver's seat. "I'll meet you back home."

"Very good, Georg," Max grumbled, resigned, as the car took off and left him in a cloud of dust.

He hoped fervently that for everyone's sake, Maria would be found safe and sound. While he might not know exactly what was going on between the two of them, Max did not believe for one minute Georg's assurances that it was nothing. Georg's transformation under her influence was as clear as day. Why, he was practically a different man! Somehow, from sworn enemies just months ago, the Captain and the lovely little teacher he'd hired had become inexplicably linked in a way he never would have expected, hadn't quite figured out, but dearly wanted to know. Someday, Max would ferret it out of them.

Still, there was one thing of which Max was absolutely certain. He had seen enough to understand that if anything happened to her, Georg would break.

* * *

Captain Von Trapp.

Maria didn't know how she knew with such certainly that if anyone came for her, it would be him. Of course, it made sense that one of the Von Trapp children had called for help when she failed to arrive at the auditorium, but beyond that, she felt a connection with the Captain she couldn't describe, and had certainly never felt before. If it had been him stranded in a river, she would go to him.

If he needed help – anything – she was sure she would give it to him.

She knew the moment he spotted her. Even though he was still quite far upstream, Maria could see the smooth, sure strokes of his oars stop briefly, and the small boat stall in response. She thought she could see him lean sideways in her direction, and could guess he was peering intently at the strange sight of her clinging to the pier under the old footbridge that spanned the river. The river was broad and gentle, but his boat quivered and threatened to veer without his guidance. She watched as he threw out his oars to steady it, and abruptly began rowing in a quick, even pace toward her.

Maria exhaled gratefully – she hadn't been sure he would see her, and she was fairly certain she had no strength left to call out. Resting her head against the metal, she finally allowed her strained eyes to close, inhaling the scent of rust and freshwater.

It was remarkable how what was supposed to be a quick experiment in the dory on a beautiful Saturday morning had suddenly turned into _this_ – her arms and legs wrapped around the wide pier in a contest of strength against time. She felt numb, but she didn't know if it was from the cold, or from the effort of her exhausted muscles trying to hold on.

 _This_ , Maria thought wryly, _was not a part of the plan_. She had examined the dory carefully before getting in, knowing the boat – which belonged to the old school janitor – hadn't been used for years. It has looked fine – until it sprung a leak. And that was the exact dismal moment when she remembered she didn't even have the oars.

She sighed. It was certainly fortunate that she had been close enough to the picturesque pedestrian bridge that she had been able to grab hold of the nearest pier and haul herself out of the sinking dory. Maria clung on, wet and miserable. She could only be thankful it was herself and not one of the students, although she knew she was hopelessly late for their meeting. Her heart ached over how much worry she must be causing them, at the same time she knew her only hope lay in one of the children calling for help.

Maria opened her eyes again when she could hear the sound of splashing oars. Her rescuer was close enough now that she could see the handsome tweed coat he wore bunching between his shoulder blades with each powerful stroke, and the dark, glossy hair peeking from beneath his jaunty hat.

And here she was, in the embarrassing predicament of clinging helplessly to a post in the middle of a river. Maria groaned inwardly, trying to shake the wet hair from her face, and did her best to straighten her cramped muscles.

She flushed as he leveled with her, reaching out an arm against the pier to steady his boat against the current. Maria took a steadying breath, and lifted her eyes to meet his.


	9. Set On Fire

Thank you all for your continued support, and for your patience awaiting this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy it too! xx

* * *

Chapter Eight

Set On Fire

Georg stared in disbelief at the scene before him.

Of the dozen scenarios that had run through his mind at what he might find on the river, a wet and bedraggled Maria clinging valiantly to the pier underneath the old pedestrian bridge was not one of them.

A wave of relief, swift and overwhelming, crashed over him when he spotted her. It was followed by terror at her still precarious situation, anger at the fact that she had gotten herself into this situation – _how_ had she gotten herself here? – and a wild desire to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

He waited a moment too long, and the canoe swayed ominously, reminding him that he had stalled in the middle of the river. Georg shook his head to clear his mind – although what he really needed was to steady his nerves – and began paddling in her direction.

His strokes were long and even, and slowly, his adrenaline-fueled emotions gave way to the recognizable ache of anticipation he seemed to always feel in her presence; a sense of comfortable familiarity mixed with something refreshing that was singularly _Maria_.

As he reached her, Georg looked her over briefly, reassuring himself she was still in one piece. While the professional, military part of him noted her bright glance (she was alert), her cyanotic lips (she was cold), her straining muscles (she was going to pay for this misadventure tomorrow, and pay well), and the reassuring steady pulse at the base of her neck, a wholly different part of him was taking her cheeks, flushed from embarrassment, her stubborn, pointed chin, and the hint of impertinence in her eyes as they looked at each other.

Georg wondered just what it was about the scene he suddenly found so endearing. "Maria Rainer. What in the heck are you doing?"

She raised her chin a little bit higher, playfully, but Georg thought he could detect a hint of trepidation in her eyes. "Fishing, Captain."

He bit back a chuckle. "Fishing," he managed to deadpan.

"Mm-hmm. And having a marvelous time."

"You don't say." He couldn't help it – his lips twitched.

Her eyes warmed, and her face visibly relaxed into a small smile, which he found himself returning instantly. Had she been worried about how he would react, of all things?

He reached for her, leaning over the canoe's edge and hooking an arm firmly under her shoulders. Straining to keep his balance, he pulled her up into the boat. Their momentum propelled them against the gunwale, and he twisted sideways, taking her with him, to keep them from tumbling straight over the other side. "Oooph!" Maria gasped, crashing hard against his chest as they came to a stop. For a moment, neither moved, both trying to catch their breath.

She was soaked. Her clothes were freezing against his own. The canoe's thwart dug painfully into his back.

And he reacted. Not to the discomfort. Not to the fact that he was _cold_. But rather, to _her_. To her proximity. To the way she fit against him, the way her hips slotted against his, the feel of her leg between his. To her hot, shallow breaths against his neck. He felt a sudden tightening under his naval, felt a surge of primal heat rush through his body, and suppressed a groan with difficulty.

 _What in heck?_

"Maria," he murmured, trying to push away from her. He was afraid that any longer, and she would become aware of exactly how his body was responding to hers. She lifted her head to look at him, her soft "mmm?" reverberating directly through his chest. Her mouth was mere inches from his, lips parted in question. Those stubborn, witty, compassionate, _sensual_ lips. This time, he couldn't suppress a hum low in his throat.

What if, just this once, he claimed those lips as his?

Thankfully, the thought was fleeting. Unbalanced and unmanned, the canoe listed severely to one side. He swore, bolting upright, the canoe swaying dangerously as he fought to level it, still caught up in a tangle of arms and wet skirt.

He steadied the boat, and gestured for Maria to pull herself onto the seat. She did so clumsily, wincing as her stiff muscles protested every movement. He sat across from her, the mix of desire and adrenaline lifting his heartbeat straight into his ears.

"Captain, I – " She was shivering. And just like that, he was imagining several different scenarios in which he could warm her up, if he had his way. He shook his head angrily. This was folly. Was he really considering propositioning this woman, whose friendship meant everything to him, just because he rescued her from a river? It was as though being back on the water somehow threw him back to his wild, heady, sailor days – except his Maria was the furthest thing possible from that type of girl.

He gritted his teeth. What was he thinking? She was not _his_. She did not belong to him. And what was he doing? Daydreaming, _fantasizing_ , when he should be getting her to safety.

"Later," Georg managed to ground out, the word more clipped than he intended. He pulled off his jacket and handed it to her. Their eyes met as she reached for it, and he softened. "Are you alright?" He asked gently.

"Mm-hmm." She nodded, wrapping his jacket around herself as he picked up the oars and began rowing in sure, swift strokes toward the nearest bank.

Maria remained unusually silent; seemingly content just to burrow against his jacket, the collar portion pulled up around her chin. Then again, she was likely exhausted.

Georg regarded her as he rowed, with an unaccustomed tenderness that caught him by surprise. He felt oddly exposed, and was suddenly glad she was not looking at him to notice his expression. It was as though a certain something had crept into the edges of his consciousness, something that –

 _Later_ , he repeated silently, this time, for himself.

As they reached the shore, Georg nudged the canoe into the sand, and stepped onto the bank. Turning, he held out his hand to help Maria clamber over the edge. She was so tired he had to wrap an arm firmly around her waist and half lift her out.

"Can you walk?"

"I believe so, Captain." Maria replied confidently.

As it turned out, she couldn't. She stumbled, and he caught her against his side.

"Hmm." Georg looked down at her. Even her eyelids fluttered heavily. In one swift movement, Georg leaned to hook his free arm around her knees, lifting her straight off the ground.

Maria started to protest, even as her arm looped around his neck. "Captain's orders," he murmured. She made a muffled sound against his shirt that sounded like a huff. Despite her waterlogged clothes, she was surprisingly light, and once again, he was seized by a sudden protectiveness. Cradling her to his chest, and ignoring the increasing dampness against his shirt, he picked his way along the riverbank back toward the car.

When he reached the opening that led back to where he had left the car, he stopped short. Georg could see the tracks where Maria had pushed off in her dory. Beside them were two oars, stacked neatly against each other.

"Why didn't you take the oars?" He asked incredulously, too astounded to even be angry.

"Mmm?" Maria mumbled sleepily into his chest, as she half-turned to look at where he was staring, dumbfounded. "Oh! I meant to." Her voice was more of a sigh. "I forgot."

More curious than incensed, he glanced down at her, waiting. Sure enough, she continued, more alert now. "If you must know, Captain, I had pushed the boat to the edge of the water, then got in and forgot all about the oars. I was lying down, pretending to be dead, and the current grabbed hold of the boat before I could even think."

"You were pretending to be…" Georg started to repeat, stupefied, unsure whether he had heard correctly. Was one of them insane?

"You see, Captain, the upper class is studying Tennyson. I was going over The Lady of Shallot this morning in the classroom – I thought perhaps we might read it next week – and I, I got inspired when I remembered we had the dory – " She peeked up at him as she felt him tense. "Oh please, don't be angry, Captain!"

By all accounts, he should have been furious. The Georg of three months ago would have been. But all he could think was that just this morning, he thought he might never see her again. Alive. He exhaled helplessly into her hair. "Do you actually have a death wish?"

"It was terribly thoughtless of me," she admitted readily. "Please believe me, Captain – I would _never_ have done it with the children."

Georg believed her. He knew she would never put the students in harms way. He shook his head, the shock of her explanation slowly wearing off, leaving him exasperated and amused. "You do know that Elaine died first of a broken heart, and not of half-drowning in the river."

"I did not set out to do any percentage of drowning," she retorted, the indignation in her voice making him smile. "The dory sprung a leak."

Georg was quiet for a moment, suddenly finding himself thinking of the story of the tragic lily maid and her unrequited love. It filled him with an inexplicable sense of urgency, a need to express something of what he had experienced before and after he found her on the river, although he himself had yet to give word to any of it.

"I was worried," he said at last. _More_. "I thought at one point that I had lost you."

"I'm sorry I worried you – and the children," she said sincerely. "Thank you for coming for me." Maria's voice was earnest as she turned her face up to him. Then, softly, simply – "I knew you would."

 _Oh, Maria._ It wasn't so much what she said as the way she said it, which had the blood suddenly pounding through his veins. Their eyes locked. He found himself bending toward her, lips parting to ask permission –

And then noticed that her lips were purple, her skin clammy, and she was still shivering. Georg had seen enough hypothermia in his time to recognize the early signs when he saw it.

He straightened abruptly, silently cursing at how, once again, he had failed to look out for her. "Let's go. Into the car. We need to get you home."

* * *

Maria had never felt so cold, shaking so uncontrollably her teeth chattered. But strangely, despite her trembling, her limbs felt incredibly numb and heavy, and even keeping her eyes open felt like a struggle.

She felt so rigid that she wondered how she could possibly get into the car, but somehow Captain Von Trapp managed to ease her gently into the passenger side, before sliding into the driver's seat.

"Your canoe – " She tried to say. It came out as a stuttering jumble.

"I'll come back for it," he said sharply, turning to look at her with a worried frown. It deepened as he looked her over. Without preamble, he reached over and eased his jacket from her shoulders, before sliding his fingers along the buttons of her sweater, undoing them swiftly.

"What are you doing?" She gasped, feeling his fingers travel down her stomach.

"Getting your outer things off," he answered, deftly removing the sweater. "You'll lose less heat that way."

He removed her socks and boots, working with military efficiency. Then his fingers sought out the fastener of her skirt, leaning across her and sweeping a hand along the length of her waist before locating it on the side away from him. He undid the clasps that kept her skirt in place, and moved to tug the dress free. She gasped at the unmistakable sensation of skin against skin, his palm against her hip. His thumb brushed over a spot just above her hipbone, sending a shiver deep into her body.

An involuntary sound escaped her throat. She wasn't sure she felt cold anymore, but rather, that something within her had ignited.

Maria felt him stiffen, and looked up to where he still leaned over her. His eyes were dark and wide, staring back at her, hand frozen against her hip. In horror, she realized that of course, he expected her to be wearing drawers or a shift. But she hadn't been able to find enough undergarments in the donation box, and hadn't had the chance to buy more with her measly savings, that all she wore under her thick wool skirt was her underwear. Her cheeks heated in mortification.

The Captain pulled back abruptly, avoiding her eyes, pausing only long enough to fasten a single clasp on her skirt. He turned brusquely to the steering wheel.

"Pardon me," he said, his voice low. It was almost a mumble, and she figured he was as embarrassed as she. He started the car.

The Captain drove as fast as the narrow streets would allow, once honking at an indignant elderly gentleman driving a carriage until he pulled over, giving them a dirty look as they drove by. They passed the familiar landmarks from their numerous walks home – the fountain, the beer hall, the pretty lane with the overarching trees, their branches now bare and awaiting the snow… Maria never imagined they would be passing them in _this_ fashion. The Captain's eyes never left the road. When they reached the small square where they usually parted, he finally turned to her. "Which way, Maria?" It was a demand, not a question.

Silently, she pointed to the street. Then left, and left again, until they arrived in front of her building.

Without giving the old building a second glance, Captain Von Trapp leapt out of the car, wrenched open her door, and swung her again into his arms, pinning her against his chest. It felt almost harsh, so different from the way he'd held her back along the river. Before Maria had time to wonder, he was up the steps of her apartment. Hands full, the Captain rapped smartly on the building's entrance with his foot, then stalked past the astounded landlady who opened it for them.

"Sorry," Maria mouthed to her over his shoulder, as she stood gaping after them.

She directed him to her small flat, and he paused in front of her locked door. "In my pocket," Maria told him.

He obliged, shifting her weight so he could use one hand to find her keys. As he reached for her pocket, hidden in the folds of her dress, his fingers grazed her side, exposed by her indecently done-up skirt.

Startled, Maria shifted – and there it was again. That sensitive spot above her hip that sent her nerves tingling. Her breath shuddered.

He paused. She felt the muscles of his torso tighten as he tensed. And then his fingers brushed over her skin once more, a touch so light she wondered if it was an accident. Then again. Back and forth in small circles. Her eyes closed. She heard his breath escape in a hiss. Maria felt her skin melting under his touch, a molten heat that traveled everywhere, causing her thighs to clench and her chest to burn, as something in her centre demanded for release. _Again._ She realized she was shaking. If he didn't stop, she would be a quivering mess.

Squirming, she turned her face into his shoulder, and felt his arms tighten around her. She pressed back against him, hard, trying to relieve the strange pressure beneath her naval. He gave her hip a gentle squeeze, and she gasped. He stilled. For a moment, neither moved. She felt the rapid rise and fall or his chest, as he too, seemed to fight for breath.

"Your keys," he murmured hoarsely into her hair.

It took her a moment to remember what he was referring to. Disoriented, with an odd sense of disappointment, she twisted so he could reach the keys in her pocket. His hand shook as he pulled them out. She watched, biting her lip as he inserted it into the lock, then heard him exhale sharply as it clicked into place.

Captain Von Trapp stepped over the threshold, looking around for a fraction of a second, taking in his surroundings, before making her sit in a chair while he went to start the bath in her tiny bathroom. Alone, Maria drew a deep, shaking breath.

He had been looking for her keys, but his accidental touch had reached the very depth of her, leaving a trail of something that had been both sensational and almost painful. Had he felt it?

He had been almost silent the entire drive, curt and detached. Perhaps even annoyed. Even just now, as he was setting her down, he face had looked so stern she wondered suddenly if she had somehow offended him, there in the hallway. Or perhaps he was just angry about the whole day – a day she had undoubtedly ruined for him with her little incident.

Maria sighed, eyeing her purple fingers. Would she ever stop getting into scrapes?

She could feel the warm steam of the bath before he reappeared before her. "Come," he instructed, reaching out a hand to help her stand. He supported her into the bathroom and to the edge of the tub, releasing her when he saw that she was stable. He gave her a quick lookover, then nodded and turned to go. "Don't fall asleep." He warned tersely in the doorway. "And don't get out until your arms and legs stop tingling."

Maria nodded, too tired to ask if he was angry with her. "Thank you, Captain," she whispered, instead.

His voice was unexpectedly soft. "Do you need help?"

Fighting the sudden urge to cry, she shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. The last she saw before the door closed were his fingers lingering on the doorknob – surely longer than it took him to close the door – before latching it softly shut behind him.

* * *

Maria did as instructed, staying in the bath until her limbs stopped tingling, and then some. After the initial pain of blood flooding into her extremities, she had given herself over to the warmth and comfort of the water, allowing her body to go limp and her mind to think nothing at all, dozing only enough that she couldn't possibly be accused of falling asleep.

Fighting off a deep heaviness, she struggled to slip into her bathrobe, securing it tightly around her waist – after what had happened in the car, she wanted no more clothing mishaps – before padding out of the bathroom.

She knew immediately that he had left. The small flat felt oddly empty, although he had done nothing more than walk through it and start a bath. But after such a day they'd had, and the way he had acted – authoritative and protective, all at once – she had almost expected him to stay.

 _And do what?_ Her consciousness chided. After all, it certainly wasn't acceptable for the Captain to linger in her home, an unaccompanied gentleman, and yet… Maria sighed, unconsciously smoothing a hand down her waist and over her hips.

She made to turn in the direction of her bedroom, when a steaming cup of something on the kitchen table caught her attention.

Curiously, she limped over. On the table was hot tea, the largest cup she owned filled to the brim. Neatly stacked beside it were her clean nightclothes, with a small note resting on top written in an angular scrawl. Maria snatched at it and read the short missive.

 _Gone home to inform the children. If you need anything else tonight, have your landlady call me._

She stared at the number scribbled at the bottom. _Call me_.

 _P.S. There are a few painkillers beside your bed. Take them. You'll be wickedly sore tomorrow._

Maria snorted at the postscript. At least the Captain's sense of humour had returned, and he certainly didn't seem angry with her. Realizing she was indeed parched, she gulped down the tea, scorching her tongue in the process. Slipping into her clothes with an appreciative sigh, she made her way into the bedroom, sitting gratefully for a moment at the edge of the bed. The note was still clutched in her hand. Reaching over, she placed it on the nightstand, where indeed there sat a small bottle of painkillers, wherever he had procured them from, next to a glass of water.

It wasn't until she was lying in bed, eyes already closing, that she realized he had pulled back the covers for her.

 _He had been in her room. Picked out her clothes. Turned down her bed._ For some reason, the thought made her smile. And within seconds, she was asleep.

* * *

Maria awoke suddenly the next morning with an agonizing pain in her left calf. Gasping, she tried to shake off the cramp, her arms, back, and torso protesting with every slight movement.

As the cramping eased, Maria burrowed further under the covers, groaning. She'd only been hugging a post for a few hours, and yet her joints felt like they'd been pulled apart, she thought grumpily. She spotted the painkillers by her bed.

 _He meant for you to take them_ last _night_ , Maria realized suddenly. _Silly woman_. Suppressing another groan, she reached over and shook a few tabs from the bottle, swallowing them without water.

Closing her eyes, she let sleep claim her once more.

And once more, she was roused suddenly, this time by a loud rapping on the door. Maria glanced resentfully at the sun now flooding her room, and guessed that it would be at least noon, if not afternoon.

Gingerly, she flexed her arms and legs. Sore, but manageable. The painkillers had worked.

Maria sat up and shuffled to the door, fumbling with the lock and wondering a moment too late who it could be (and whether it might be _him_ ) and whether she ought to have taken a moment to freshen up and _not_ look like she had just tumbled out of bed.

She opened the door to reveal her landlady, who stood gaping at her.

"Good morning, Hilda." She managed to stifle a giggle at the good woman's offended expression.

" _Morning?_ It's two in the afternoon!"

Maria smiled sheepishly. "I slept in."

"I'll say," the landlady sniffed. She eyed Maria's second-hand, modest nightgown skeptically. "When I was your age, I went to bed at a decent hour and always went to church on Sundays. Young people are getting more and more irreverent, I suppose," she sighed mournfully.

"Oh no," Maria said warmly, not allowing her landlady to provoke her. "You know I always do, Hilda – yesterday was an anomaly." Seeing Hilda's raised eyebrows, Maria murmured, "it's a long story."

"Does it have anything to do with Captain Von Trapp?" Hilda asked slyly. She held out a parcel. "He just dropped by to give you this."

"He did?" Confused at the way her heartbeat seemed to catch in her throat, Maria reached for the bag.

"He told me not to wake you and leave it by your door," the landlady admitted. "But I never imagined you'd be sleeping at this hour."

Maria smiled to herself, touched by the Captain's thoughtfulness.

"He seemed somewhat more genial this afternoon than he did yesterday," Hilda remarked. "And _you_ certainly look better."

Maria laughed at this. "I suppose we did look like quite the spectacle. I had a bit of an accident with the school's boat and fell into the river, and Captain Von Trapp was kind enough to come for me."

Hilda stared at her, scandalized. "Really Maria! What are people going to say? You're a schoolmarm, for goodness sake!"

"I know, I know." The thought was weighing heavily on her as well, now that she had recovered from her fright. She worried about the students, and the Von Trapp children in particular. She hoped they would forgive her her transgression – not for a moment did she think to hide it from them – and not think too poorly of her. She wondered whether the school board would hear of it. Or the other parents. If they did… she knew their opinion of her as it was.

Maria sighed. She would just have to cross that bridge when she got there.

Hilda mimicked her sigh. Not wanting to be made to feel like a child again, Maria thanked her for delivering the package and bid her a hasty farewell, closing the door as politely as she cold.

She carried the bag to the kitchen table, setting it down next to the empty cup of tea the Captain had made her last night. Curiously, she peered inside. A folded piece of paper sat atop a good-sized brown paper package. Her heart leapt again at the familiar sharp writing.

 _Dear Maria,_

 _I hope you have sufficiently recovered from yesterday's events._

 _You will be happy to know the children thought your – our – little adventure highly entertaining. Gretl has asked to hear 'the story of Fraulein Maria and the boat' no less than three times. They are glad you are all right, and wish you a speedy recovery. I must warn you that Brigitta will want to interview you on Monday, as she would like to write your most harrowing experience into a story._

Maria found herself smiling broadly. She was relieved to know the children were not upset with her (and how astute of the Captain to know that she would worry over that!) – and 'adventure' sounded so much better than 'mishap'! But most of all, she loved how intimately the Captain had written the lovely little details about the children. She imagined the scene – the children crowding around the Captain, little Gretl snuggled on his lap as he told their tale. She was delighted to see how far the family had come, his love for them shining in every word. She continued,

 _I hope you do not mind that I also took the liberty to speak to Max. He will see to it that our incident will not be reaching a wider audience. Although I should warn you not to attempt such dangerous antics again –_

Maria coloured. He was right. She was ashamed that she would even _think_ about floating down the river as a dramatic exercise. Which, she thought despairingly, was part of the problem – she'd gotten so caught up in the romance and excitement of the poem that she hadn't been thinking at all!

– _if you feel so compelled to enact the tragic Elaine, the lake behind the Von Trapp estate is a shallow and safe option._

Maria's eyes widened as she read his words. She knew he was only teasing – unlikely she would be attempting such a stunt again anytime soon, and he must know it – but the suggestion made her breath catch. Under its playful disguise, he had made her an invitation.

 _I noticed yesterday your wardrobe is direly lacking winter apparel – there ARE_ _other ways of catching your death of cold besides half-drowning. I saw to it that you got some material – I had these sent from town._

So that's what the parcel was. Maria drew the brown paper package from the bag, untying the string to reveal a stack of neatly folded fabric. She gazed at the fine material in girlish delight. How lovely they were! They would make the prettiest clothes she'd ever had. She wondered whether the Captain had picked out the fabric himself. Surely not?

And then she read the end salutation.

 _Warmly,_

 _Georg_

Maria didn't miss either implication. Warmly. She grinned. This Captain Von Trapp was a witty one. But… it would be Captain no longer.

Georg. He wanted her to call him Georg.

Maria tested it out loud in the quiet of the room. Absentmindedly, she traced his name with her finger, perplexed at how fitting it felt against her lips.

It wasn't until she had taken the gift into her room that she realized with shock that his name had been there, nestled at the back of her mind, for a long while now; a whisper, a subtle flicker, waiting to be discovered.


	10. A Grand and Glorious Evening

Happy New Year, er'ryone!

So sorry for the delay (I don't know if anyone's noticed, but in an effort to keep myself on track, I was trying to update chapters in tandem with the story's timeline, and really wanted to finish this one before Christmas!) - I really struggled with this chapter; with the flow, with how to execute the ideas, with basically everything about it. :P The format of this chapter is a bit different (and gives it sort of an acceptable choppiness :P), and was inspired by the book "The Lonely Hearts Hotel" which I was reading for my book club at the time.

Thank you for all your lovely reviews and gentle reminders to update - it really inspires me to work on upcoming chapters even at the end of a crazy day! xx

* * *

Chapter Nine

A Grand and Glorious Evening

Maria wondered if she slept at all the night before opening evening, or whether she spent it tossing and turning in a frenzy of excitement. She must have, because when she opened her eyes, it was dawn. It was a greyish, ghostly sort of dawn, the thick clouds out her window obscuring the pink hues of sunrise, but there was a lightness to them that promised a magical snowfall.

Maria sat up in bed, swung her legs over the edge, and gasped as her feet made contact with the freezing floor. She groped blindly for her slippers.

She went through her morning ritual even more haphazardly than usual, mentally going over all the last minute details that still needed to be done. It was hard to believe the day was finally here – the culmination of the students' hard work and all those extra hours of practice.

The preceding week had been a blur. Maria had spent every single hour of her free time at the auditorium. The students were wild with excitement, staying long after dress rehearsal to help with setting up the stage and decorating the hall. Curious parents who initially arrived to pick them up stayed to lend a hand, affected by their child's enthusiasm. But Maria was probably the most excited of them all, moving everywhere at once on feet so light she could have been dancing, talking so much that halfway through the week she lost her voice. She knew how hard the students had worked, how far they had come in their abilities, their confidence, their teamwork, and secretly felt their little play was every bit as worthy as the extravagant productions she used to dream about as a little girl back in Vienna.

Maria knew not everyone felt the same about her pet project. The school had put on a Christmas charity concert every year, but for many years it was the sort of event attended by only the parents of the performers, and even then more often than not as a chore. When she took the helm, determined to give the traditional event a fresh perspective, many of Salzburg's inhabitants threw up their hands in protest. All at once, the play sudden became frivolous, tasteless, inappropriate, distracting, and a waste of time. The social studies teacher had quite literally stood against her every move, arguing that the play was glorifying her subject over all the others.

She had countered, as gently as she could, that she was sure the play would be worthwhile for the students. Maria smiled. Tonight, they would see for themselves. After all, she was nothing if not repetitious.

Maria hummed to herself as she slipped on her boots, trying to balance several large, bulky packages that contained her last-minute supplies. On her way out the door, her stomach rumbled reproachfully. Laughing to herself, Maria stopped to grab a crescent-shaped bread roll from the pantry, telling herself that just this once, she could afford to skip breakfast.

* * *

Breakfast at the Von Trapp residence was a dismal affair.

The children were excited. Everybody talked and nobody listened, creating a din that Georg previously thought was relegated only for Christmas.

The noise used to annoy him, but now he only chuckled a little at the thought that Maria's opening night was now rivaling Christmas at his house.

The holidays had crept up on him before he knew it, and Georg reflected that this was the first year in a long time he was truly looking forward to it. The first day of December, he had gone into the woods with the children to pick out a beautiful little fir tree, and helped decorate it, besides. He joined the children in making a gingerbread house, even getting into an argument with Frau Schmidt about how to best add icicles to the roof. One of the children could be heard bellowing Christmas tunes at all times. Kurt had acquired an old gong from God only knows where, and had taken to clanging it loudly during unsuspecting moments, causing them to all jump. Georg grinned at the memory of the morning he snuck into the boys room to wake them up with that very gong, causing an indignant Kurt to tumble right out of bed. He helped the children pick out each other's presents, keeping so many secrets he was beginning to fear he couldn't keep track of them all.

As he sat at the head of the stable, watching the first snowflakes of the year flutter across the window, listening to Louisa recite her piece of dialogue for what must have been the ninth time, Georg couldn't help a small smile.

It had taken a few years, but finally, he had found his way back to them.

* * *

Maria picked her way through the sprinkle of snow on the ground as she made her way to school.

The morning air was brisk. Maria's eyes delighted at how the white powder had transformed the buildings and streets into a pretty postcard. Big, white snowflakes settled playfully on her new hat and coat, and became tangled in her long lashes.

It wasn't until Maria was halfway to school that she realized she had a boot on one foot and a house slipper on the other. She stopped abruptly in the middle of the road, bending down to scrutinize her legs in a way that would have been comical to anyone watching. She sighed. It would take too long to go back for the other boot, and with her new long skirt – for once a proper fit – no one would notice her feet. Not that anyone would be looking at her tonight, anyway. She would be backstage, directing from behind the curtain.

With a philosophical shrug, Maria continued in the direction of the venue.

* * *

Closing the door to his study (perhaps he would try to get a few quiet hours of work done before he had to get ready for the night), Georg strode across the room to his desk. On his way, he glanced toward the console. It was still covered in swatches of material the seamstress had prepared for him the week before, when he had ordered some fabric to be sent up for Maria.

Georg ran his fingers absentmindedly across the soft, feminine fabrics. Shades of blue so like her eyes, comforting, warm greys, hints of bright colours, rich and vibrant. Everything reminded him of her. His fingers closed briefly over a swatch of dark velvet.

Would she be wearing any of it, tonight?

He let the material go with a sigh and went to his desk. Although if the past week was any indication, he would be getting very little done.

* * *

It was quiet when Maria arrived at the school's auditorium. She was the first one there. Dropping her packages by the front entrance, she wandered around the perimeter of the room. One moment, she was admiring the decoration. A moment later, she was thinking about him.

It had been like that the entire week. Even with the frenzy of preparing for opening night and her students pulling her attention in a dozen directions at once, she would suddenly find her thoughts drifting to him, like he was an ever-present figure in her mind. With it came a heady rush that seemed to be an odd mix of contentment, longing, anticipation, and reluctance. Sometimes she would suddenly look up, hoping to see him, but at other times, she felt almost afraid to.

Georg had not been among the parents volunteering to decorate the hall. He had come by on several evenings to collect his children, staying only long enough for them to finish whatever small tasks they were working on.

He drew a large amount of attention from the adults in the room, mostly in convert glances when they thought he wasn't looking, but a few stared openly. They knew who he was, of course, but the stories that had circulated about him, first as a heroic sea-captain, then a reclusive, grieving widow, seemed to elevate him into mythology. He moved easily about the room, always acknowledging the other parents courteously. He seemed to know a good many by name, even asking after their family.

Maria tried not to look at him too frequently, but inevitably, he would end up at her side. He kept the chatter light, inquiring into how she had recovered, or asking after the progress of the preparations. Maria would answer brightly this or that, their conversation so casual she herself would have believed it, were it not for the fact that whenever she met his eyes, she felt an intensity that stole her breath away.

She wondered how his questions about spruce garlands and tea candles could sound like a caress, how his polite smile felt like a burn, how his light farewell across a carefully maintained distance felt like a whisper in her ear.

Later, she would wonder why her thoughts of him seemed to follow her into her dreams, where a touch of her hip became a pressure against the small of her back, a demand at the nape of her neck, a desperate tug of her hair, an intricate dance across her body that had her waking up breathless and disoriented. It was both overwhelming, and not enough.

It frightened her, and yet, she wanted to feel it again, and again.

* * *

Georg put down his ballpoint pen with a huff when he caught himself smiling involuntarily at his desk, like a buffoon, as though she was standing right in front of him.

The problem, Georg thought, glaring hopelessly at the article on military grade shipping metal he'd been asked to review, wasn't that he thought about her all the time. Between his seven children and running a household, Georg was kept busy, and, he was relieved to find, happily so.

But Maria cropped up in his thoughts frequently enough, particularly during the quieter moments, and when she did, she consumed him. It was as though the one Saturday he'd just spent with her had caught the kindling of all the hours they'd walked and talked together and sent it into a blazing flame.

He remembered the way she felt; the feel of her skin under his hands, her body flush against his at he held her in the musty hallway of her apartment, soaked clothes and all. Perhaps he could have controlled them, halted these thoughts in their steps, were it not for the very vivid memories of the way she had responded. The involuntary sounds that came from her mouth, the urgent way she had pressed him for more, the total trust she had given him almost immediately. He imaged that instead of setting her down, he kissed her, caressed her, gently pushed her up against the wall. How would she respond? Would she kiss him back, wrap her legs around his waist, allow him to ruck up her skirt and touch her, there? How would she feel when she opened for him? How would she sound when she cried out his name?

More. It undid him. Again and again.

The intensity and swiftness with which the thoughts had taken hold surprised him. Alarmed him. Mortified him.

Georg had always been a honourable man. Even in his wildest days, his intentions had always been clear. It felt as though his thoughts and body were betraying him, as though he was taking advantage of a guileless young woman, one he'd come to hold in the highest regard.

But the more he tried to hold her apart from such thoughts, the more he wanted to drag her down from her pedestal and ravish her.

* * *

"Fraulein Maria!" One of the students called her name. Maria started, blushing profusely, the feel of his touch still lingering against her skin.

* * *

"Father!" He could hear his children gathered in the hallway, waiting for him.

Guiltily, reluctantly, Georg turned toward the office door.

* * *

Maria was pleased that everything had gone according to plan, that day. The hall looked beautiful. The lights worked, the student orchestra had arrived early to warm up, and she had finally sorted out the finicky apparatus from which they hung their backdrops.

She gave the costume rack one last lookover. Everything looked to be in order, including the ball-gown they'd had trouble finding until Liesl brought one in from home.

Maria didn't need Liesl whispering to her that it used to be her mothers to know the beautiful, delicate dress had been a treasured item. Maria had refused to alter it, even though the children reassured her she could, instead re-writing the script to match the description of the dress. Liesl had been delighted to find the memory of their mother written into the play.

How could Maria bear to alter it, when the children had so little of their mother? When every memory meant so much? The children were just like their father.

Georg, who had entrusted her with his memories. His grief. Georg, who had, bit by bit, handed over the broken pieces of his heart. For the first time, Maria wondered. Had she – had she tried to alter it? Alter him? Had she pushed him too hard?

Had she naively, foolishly, _selfishly_ tried to mend something that couldn't be repaired?

* * *

It had been years since he had helped someone get ready for a party. The girls, Georg thought fondly, were just like their mother.

He had spent the last hour in the nursery, helping the girls get ready. The boys had locked themselves in their room, adamant they didn't need 'help'.

Georg admired dresses, tied sashes, and braided hair. But when Liesl and Louisa started to apply cosmetics to their face ('keep it minimal!' Georg had warned sternly, a little alarmed), he excused himself, feeling truly out of his depth. He left the younger girls in the room, watching their sisters in rapt attention.

He needed to retrieve something, anyway – something he had been meaning to give to the children, and now, with their big night ahead, was as good a time as any.

When he returned, he carried an ornate wooden box in his hands. Curious, his girls crowded around him.

"What is it, father?" Marta asked, staring at the intricate box with wide eyes.

He ushered them to the table, placing the box on top. Carefully, he opened the lid. It contained Agathe's numerous hair accessories, untouched since the day she died. Gems, pearls, diamonds, feathers – enough to delight any girlish heart. Georg smiled indulgently.

He caught the girls' reactions. His two youngest oooh-ed and aaah-ed. Brigitta stared silently at her mother's things, and Liesl's hand flew to her mouth. And Louisa's eyes filled with tears.

His looked at them tenderly. He should have done this a long time ago.

"These were your mother's," he murmured. He remembered he had passed this room once, and wanted to say these very words. Georg was pleased to find that while they were still bittersweet against his lips, the sweet far outweighed the bitter. Then, with each girl hugging him tightly, he found it eclipsed the bitterness altogether.

* * *

From her place directing traffic behind the curtain, Maria could hear the audience arriving. In front of her, people were milling everywhere. She caught a glimpse of Liesl and Frederich amongst the performers, and saw Louisa hanging up her coat behind them. She waved merrily to Frau Wagner, the elderly teacher who'd always received her warmly and had agreed to help supervise the performers.

As she reveled in the chaos, she spotted a man standing in the shadows just offstage.

"Herr Detweiler!" She exclaimed. Little Gretl stood next to him, peeking at her from behind his legs, observing the busy scene with wide, serious eyes. Maria went to them, smiling, and he shook her hand warmly in both of his.

"Fraulein, I must say – this is spectacular!"

She laughed, reminding him impishly that he had yet to see the show.

"Well," he waved off her comment, "in any case, the turnout is spectacular. I doubt Salzburg has been so motivated by a school production in… well, I don't know how long." He paused for a moment, then shrugged an continued with a little laugh. "Anyhow, congratulations for pulling it off – not many people could." He held out the large bouquet of flowers he was holding. "These are for you."

Blushing, Maria accepted them. This was the first time she'd received flowers from anyone. She looked for the card, but didn't see one.

"Are these from…" Her voice trailed off, but both heard the unspoken question in the silence.

"They're from me," Max said cheerfully.

Maria blushed even harder as he watched her in amusement. _Why would she even think Georg should send her flowers?_ She nodded, and stammered a "thank you, Herr Detweiler."

"I'm quite aware the custom is to give flowers after the show, but I must apologize, I need to duck out a wee bit early. Heading to Vienna on the last train... Spending the holidays. I have an elderly – and very wealthy – aunt I am hoping to see."

She nodded again, managing a genuine smile, this time. It was hard to be awkward around Max for long. 'Thank you again. You've been so supportive of this – of me – from the beginning. I can't say it enough."

Max smiled, taking childish delight in her gratitude. "Ah well, you can start by having a good run of it tonight."

At this moment she felt a tug on her dress. The youngest Von Trapp was trying to get her attention. "And how are you tonight, Gretl?" Maria bent down so she was level with the young girl.

Unsmiling, Gretl held out a tightly clenched fist.

"What happened to your hand?" Maria reached toward her, covering the small hand in her own.

"Nothing, Fraulein Maria," Gretl said seriously. "I have something for you." She dropped something into her hand.

Surprised, Maria pulled back, and looked quizzically at the small, smooth, black stone sitting in her palm.

"Is this for me, darling?"

Gretl nodded. She tugged at Maria's sleeve, urging her to come closer until Maria's face was right next to hers. With eyes buttoned in concentration, she stood on tiptoe so she could whisper into Maria's ear. She explained in her five-year-old matter-of-fact voice that the stone was a good luck charm from her father, one that he'd carried with him through his years at sea.

Having successfully completed her task, Gretl pulled back, a broad smile lighting up her face.

Maria's fingers tightened instinctively around the small stone, acutely aware that it was Georg's fingers that had coaxed such a degree of smoothness from it. She ignored the heat pooling in her face and heart beating furiously against her ribs, and returned the smile. "Thank you, Gretl. This is just what I needed." She opened her arms, and Gretl hugged her happily.

When Gretl released her, Maria stood, slipping the stone into her pocket. She exchanged a smile with Max, who had been appraising her exchange with Georg's young daughter with an air of vast amusement. "Out of all the rocks he could have chosen, Georg _would_ chose that one," he muttered.

Maria didn't hear, but sharp-eared Gretl did. " _I_ think it's a pretty one," she ventured. "Isn't it, Uncle Max?"

Max laughed, and ruffled the little girl's hair fondly. "Right you are, Gretl. Right you are."

* * *

Georg wasn't the sort of man who believed in luck. And – as he looked around the hall full of crowded spectators – Maria certainly did not need it.

And yet, his youngest daughter was likely at this very moment telling her beloved teacher he was sending along a good luck token. It was but a small stone, one he had collected from the beach of his first naval victory, and ended up carrying with him throughout his years of service. It wasn't out of superstition or fear, but more out of habit, and it had seemed to bring him a sense of comfort. He didn't know – or wouldn't admit – why he felt compelled to give it to Maria, as though he wanted her to carry something of his tonight, much like the way jousters of the olden age wore ladies' favours. He supposed he could only be glad that little Gretl had not been the least bit suspicious of his motives.

A commotion at the end of the aisle caught his attention. Max was navigating his way along the full row toward the empty seat beside him, stepping over people who looked rather affronted by his cheery 'excuse me's. Gretl scampered along behind him.

He caught his young daughter's eye, and raised his eyebrows in question. She gave him a giant smile and a satisfied nod, which he returned with a wink.

"Phew. What a crowd," Max said, dropping into his seat. He looked around the room, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Delightful, just delightful."

Georg snorted. He himself had turned heads upon his entrance, and even now, he could feel people staring at them. It was both stifling and a little bit irritating.

"To be fair, you _are_ easily satisfied, Max."

"Forget teaching, I should have gone into show business with our young Fraulein," Max mused, ignoring Georg's jab. "We could be wildly successful, and I could make heaps of money."

"Max…" He warned.

Max huffed in amused exasperation. "Relax, Georg. I'm only joking… with perhaps a little bit of scheming. It's a happy night. Lighten up a little!" He looked around again. "Incidentally, if you don't want people staring, you might want to rethink your outfit."

"This?" Georg looked at the tailored suit he usually wore to evening performances. "What's the matter with it?"

"It's a Salzburg school play, Georg – not the Vienna theatre." Max chuckled. "You're a fine specimen. People are looking to gobble you up."

"Nonsense," Georg scoffed. It had never occurred to him to dress down for his children's production. In hindsight, he would have endured much more than a few stares for their excitement when he had appeared before them dressed in his formalwear.

"Say what you will." Max settled himself comfortably in his seat. "Mark my words Georg – people will be converging on you afterward, and I won't be around for you to tell me I'm right."

"Ah. I'm sure with the attractions in Vienna, you won't even remember having this conversation."

"'Tis true. Elsa's invited me to a late-night soiree. I shall give her a glowing review of Salzburg, and send her hopping mad with jealousy."

"Why should she be jealous?" Georg asked sharply.

"Besides the fact that I had the honour of spending all this time with you, living like a king, while she has yet to receive an invitation?" Max threw him a sly look. "I don't know – maybe you could tell me."

Involuntarily, Georg looked toward the velvet red curtain cascading from the stage, as though he could see her on the other side.

"There's nothing to tell," he said, finally.

"Ah." Max smiled, looking vastly amused. "Right you are."

* * *

Maria sometimes wondered whether she beamed through the entire show. The students were spectacular. Maria was as excited as any of them as they skipped their way offstage at the end of every scene, starry-eyed with success and exhilaration.

The Von Trapp children carried the show. Liesl looked stunning, captivating audiences with their voice, and Louisa won over the crowd with her powerful recitation. Friedrich and Evan – the young man who'd once walked Liesl home and caused such a scene – were so engaging they had the audience laughing until they cried.

As the students took their final bows, Maria looked across the hall in time to see the first person stand, before the rest of the room followed in a collective ovation. He was wearing a dark, formal suit, his handsome features lit by a warm smile.

He looked right at her, as the heavy curtains fell to tumultuous applause.

The students reached her first, crowding her with yells of glee and hugging her with smiles that reached from ear to ear. Then the parents began coming backstage, and there were more exclamations and smiles and flowers than she could count.

She shook hands over and over again as people came up to congratulate her, laughing and deferring the praise to her students.

Absentmindedly, her hand slipped around the small rock in her skirt pocket, nestled against her hip, wondering how somehow, instead of luck, it had brought her happiness.

* * *

It was mayhem backstage, where the younger Von Trapps had dragged him to find their older siblings.

Georg had hugged his children, admired Liesl's ballgown, and told them he was proud of them, before standing back to allow them to enjoy the fruits of their effort with the other students.

Instead, he watched her, trying not to be too conspicuous. He had spotted her the moment he was backstage. She was hard to miss, surrounded by a large crowd of well-wishers, her laughter carrying above the general mayhem. She was wearing a dress made from the material he'd given her, cut simply and modestly. And yet she was stunning. Her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed against the deep fabric, and the dress seemed to move with her, hinting at elegant lines and soft curves beneath. From the awed look on their faces, Georg had no doubt the others could see it too. He wondered if it really took a new dress for them to finally see the richness and warmth and confidence to her that he had spotted long ago.

Georg stood back, and watched her smiling and chatting with other parents and Salzburg residents. He was relieved to find no evidence of the concerns that Max had brought up from the board, and hoped they were finally beginning to accept her for who she was. For her big ideas, and even bigger heart.

He smiled. So Max had been wrong. This was not his night after all – it was hers.

* * *

Their eyes met across the room, and for a moment there was no crowd, no stage, no distance between them.

"Well done, Fraulein," he mouthed.

"Thank you Captain," she returned silently. Her smile was radiant. He felt warm, as though her happiness had overflowed straight into him, and he realized then, in a fleeting moment of awe, that his heart was full.

* * *

 **Entr'acte**

A/N: see what I did there? ;) The direction of the story changes a bit after this... but lots more to come! Thank you for reading, and would love to know what you think.


	11. About You

Can't believe I pulled this together while watching the olympics (maybe I didn't?)... So without further ado, the next chapter!

* * *

Chapter 10

About You

January was a bleak month, full of cloudy skies and icy storms. Georg found himself feeling rather flat after the holiday season. He had made many prized memories with the children during their two-week break, despite nursing a back strain which had been the result of an intense toboggan race, and a couple of extra pounds thanks to the many late night hot chocolates where the children stayed up long past their bedtime.

Right after New Years, he had been invited to attend the Congress on Transatlantic Shipping in Geneva, and had been prevailed to stay for the better part of two weeks afterward to help negotiate a building contract.

When Georg returned to Aigen, winter was in full swing. The roads were covered in a sheet of ice buried under half a foot of snow, and every couple blocks there lay a stranded car, its engine stalled in the deep freeze. Even a few minutes in the frigid air was enough to make one gasp for breath. It was the coldest winter Austria had seen in nearly sixty years.

Returning to the villa, equipped with the country's finest natural gas furnace, which Max had running at full capacity, was a small blessing. The other man was waiting for him in his office, and Georg had to chuckle at the familiar sight of two generous brandy tumblers sitting on his desk. Half listening as Max dished out the latest Viennese gossip, Georg admitted he was a little surprised at how glad he felt at Max's presence, gossip and all. He had seen Max go before the holidays with a few misgivings about his return, wondering whether he would be seduced by the glamour and wealth of a life he'd so adored. But Max talked just as enthusiastically about his new semester as he did about Vienna, and Georg felt that perhaps he had done his friend an injustice, although he knew better than to tell him so.

Likewise, his children had settled diligently back into the grind of daily schoolwork, and Georg was pleased to see the excitement and success of previous semester's school play had not affected their impetus to do well in school.

Even Maria, it seemed, according to the children, had opted for a more serious start to the new year with a program on introduction to musical theory.

Georg had not seen Maria since the evening of the play, although he basked in the afterglow of their silent exchange all through the holidays. It was as though in the instant when their eyes had met across the crowded stage, something had shifted. He felt a strange sense of peace and contentment, like a piece of the puzzle had suddenly fallen into place. As though she had told him a secret, something he wanted to hear without knowing that he wanted it. As though he sudden _knew_ her, without having been intimate at all. He felt her presence constantly, warm and nestled against his heart.

He knew all along that she had planned to spend Christmas in Vienna with her uncle. Although the thought of that old bastard receiving any more of her ministrations nettled him – and he had, selfishly, wanted her to stay – Georg knew he would never be able to convince her sense of duty otherwise. But during his two short drives into town, he couldn't help but look for her; couldn't help but see her everywhere, hear her bright voice echoing in the streets. He all but stopped short of driving past her flat, and was embarrassed that the thought had, however briefly, crossed his mind.

Sometimes, as he answered the phone, Georg would suddenly remember that he had, not long ago, given her his phone number. He chuckled, aggrieved. _Waiting beside the phone like some lovesick schoolboy._

Even in his youth, Georg had never waited for anything. As a young sailor, he had pursued women recklessly. He'd had his pick of women in every port, stayed the night, and sailed out in the morning for his next command. If there was ever a girl who had not been charmed by his dashing, playful countenance and his low, caressing voice, he could not recall. When he met Agathe, he had known immediately that she would be the one. The attraction had been swift and mutual. They had surrendered themselves to each other in their entirety almost immediately, as perhaps only youth in their innocence could do.

Waiting. For Maria. It was both exhilarating, and highly unnerving.

It was never supposed to be Maria.

He was never supposed to want this – to _want –_ again.

If he had known, he might have guarded against such a thing from happening. Falling in love with Agathe had been easy. They had met in a ballroom, where glittering crystal chandeliers and soft orchestral music beckoned romance, where several glasses of champagne had propelled their flirtatious banter into a secluded tryst in the gardens, away from the watchful eye of one of her brothers. She had been his equal in every way, their betrothal highly anticipated by everyone in their social circle.

Even if he had known their life together would be cut short, Georg would have loved her. Married her. Worshipped her. And being a military man, he _had_ known it, prepared for it – only he never imagined it would be _her_ death, not his, which would end his life. When she died, his world collapsed. For days, months, _years,_ he existed in disbelief, in guilt, in sorrow. It should have been him, not her. Days and nights blurred into an acceptable sort of alcohol-induced oblivion, marred with sharp thorns of grief, lit by brief, forgettable moments of distraction. He tried his best to discard the remaining pieces of his life that held any meaning. Life had ceased to matter, so why was he still living it?

Finding his way out of his self-induced purgatory had been the most difficult thing he'd ever had to do. For he could barely bring himself to take her place – in his home, with his children – much less find someone that might even begin to replace her. And then, like some goddamn fairytale, he had been stunned to learn when he finally emerged from his hell-hole that the woman who had held his hand and led him through the darkness, carefully restoring the broken pieces he had tried to toss aside, was in fact his ideal, in every way.

He could never have known.

She was the teacher of his children, for God's sake!

He and Maria had been driven together out of necessity, hadn't they? Him, a grieving widow with everything to gain, and her, an outsider – never quite fitting in with her dress and her ideas – with everything to prove. In the same way he had to let her prove it, she had to let him break. Their plights couldn't be more different, yet they had found comfort in each other because they were both struggling, both lost, both alone. Weren't they?

He couldn't have said when the wanting had begun. _Closer_ , his body would urge when she was in the room. _More_ , his mind would protest when she stopped talking. _Not yet_ , his entire being would react when they were about to part.

How did it come to be that he had fallen so ardently for the young woman who taught his children, and never even knew it?

Could he make someone like Maria happy? Could he give her the freedom she craved? The chance to be unrestrained, to explore, to follow her heart and make a place for herself in a world that she had tried so hard to win over?

Would she want to subscribe to the rigid and frankly outdated rules that had governed his life, a world in which birthright and lineage dictated who could sit where at the dinner table? Would she be happy as a Baroness?

Would she – and more importantly, _why_ would she – want to be saddled down by an old man and his seven children?

He was waiting, he realized, because for the first time, he was filled with doubt.

Alone, Georg sat at the station, waiting to board his train to Switzerland for the conference. He watched families say goodbye after the holidays, sweethearts kissing each other farewell, couples heading off hand on hand on their next great adventure. And learned what he wanted.

Maria, by his side. As a part of his family, his lover, his equal.

Impulsively, he walked over to the telegram office.

 _How are you?_

He thought of her his entire time away.

Missing her. Wanting her. Wondering how to tell her that after all she had done for him, he wanted more from her.

Did she think about him as often as he thought about her?

Did she want him, like he wanted her?

Georg found a reply waiting for him in his study, on top of a large pile of mail. He snatched at it, reading it hungrily.

 _Don't you want to come by one afternoon and ask me yourself?_

* * *

The act of walking down the hallway toward her classroom alone was enough to lift his spirits. This was, after all, where it had all started. With her impudent letter. Their explosive exchanges. The meeting place of their many walks and talks, incremental steps which eventually seemed to lead to a place whether their individual paths intertwined into one. But his eagerness faded abruptly when he found that her door was closed.

He tried the knob. It was locked.

Georg frowned. It was only half an hour past school dismissal. Could she have left early?

He looked at the door. The blank expanse of wood stared back at him, silent and hollow. He felt an irrational rush of disappointment, followed by an even more absurd rush of panic. Could something have happened to her? (Georg still remembered the rowboat incident with vivid clarity.) What if she had left? What if she had found a more ideal teaching position during her stay in Vienna?

Deep down, Georg knew he was being ridiculous. He was experienced enough to recognize the irrational fear of loss that frequently accompanied longing. He knew she couldn't have left – the children had seen her every day since the semester started. And… she would have said goodbye.

Still… surely no one could fault him for checking.

Georg drove to her flat, half-formed excuses for why he had come after her chasing each other across his mind.

 _I was in the area._

 _I wanted to be sure you were alright._

 _I wanted to be sure you were still here._

He parked his car on the road, striding up the steps to the entrance of her building just in time to follow an elderly couple through the door. He took the flight of stairs up to her flat two steps at a time.

 _I wanted to see you._

He knocked on her door, and waited. Involuntarily, he leaned closer, as though he could feel her on the other side. He knocked again.

 _I wanted to tell you that I –_

The door opened vigorously, and she almost skidded right into him. Their hands and arms collided, as he tried to steady her while she tried to brace herself.

"Who-oa…"

"Georg!"

Maria stood in front of him, expressive eyes wide, lips parted in surprise. She was wearing a thick coat that was missing the top button, with the hood tied snugly around her cloud of soft blond hair.

For a moment both were silent. Then, she smiled, her trademark radiant smile with just a hint of something akin to shyness. Georg, under the panic of the past half an hour and the fact that she was standing right there, perfectly present and well and evidently happy to see him, could only stare.

"Err…" He tried to rally his scattered wits. "Are you going somewhere?"

"What?" Maria looked confused. "Oh – no. I'm not." She smiled sheepishly, pushing back her hood as she moved aside for him. "Would you like to come inside?"

Georg peered around the flat, where he had been only once but remembered vividly (and had since featured more than once in his dreams). Except now on the small table sat a messy pile of papers. Maria saw his glance and turned toward the table. She frowned, slightly. The small furrow between her eyebrows and the slight scrunch of her nose made him chuckle inwardly. Something was vexing her.

"What have you been doing?"

She made a face. "Grading theory papers."

"Ahh. I'm surprised you didn't start the year off with something lighter. I was rather expecting my children to be practicing Pirates of Penzance."

"Theory is a part of the curriculum." Maria grinned impishly. "Which, contrary to popular belief, I do follow from time to time."

He chuckled.

She moved to clear the table. He followed her, sitting in the chair she gestured for him.

"I heard you had a wonderful holiday," she remarked, as she sorted her papers into two piles. Georg watched her silently, basking in her presence as though he were recovering from frostbite.

"Hmm? Oh yes, the children told you?"

"Yes." Maria smiled widely. "They said it was the best Christmas they'd had in years."

"Mine, too." He paused. "It was madness. I wish you could have seen it." _Been a part of it_.

Maria's eyes widened, and for a moment he thought he might have spoken the last bit out loud.

"How was Vienna?" He asked, hurriedly.

"Oh…" Maria turned toward the cupboards, pausing to peer back at him. "Tea?"

"Yes, please." Georg stood to help her prepare the cups, remembering from his last visit where she kept them. ""When did you get back?"

Maria was silent, avoiding his eyes as she filled the kettle.

"Maria…" He moved closer to her, worried by her unusual silence. "Did something happen?" He thought of her unscrupulous uncle, and stiffened immediately. If he so much as –

"No – no!" She looked down, flushing, biting down on the inside of her bottom lip. It reminded him of the children when they fumbled through one of their small fibs.

Suddenly, he inhaled in understanding. "You didn't go," he guessed.

Maria bit her lip, and shook her head. "Oh, I just couldn't!" She turned to him with a desperate, pleading look in her eye. "I wanted to. I should have. I even packed my bag and had my tickets ready, but I just couldn't bring myself to go back to… well, there."

Georg couldn't blame her, and the greater part of him felt relieved. "Maria, I understand. He helped raise you. Or rather, let you stay with him. And right now, you're paying him back. You don't owe him any more than that."

"I know," she said quietly. "But Christmas is a time to be generous."

He shook his head firmly, seeing she was not quite convinced. "He doesn't deserve it." His eyes softened as he looked her over. "You spent Christmas in Salzburg? Alone?" Something in his chest clenched as he imagined Maria, who deserved all the happiness and love in the world, spending the holidays alone.

She nodded, some colour returning to her cheeks. "Yes. It was quite nice, actually. You were right; Salzburg is beautiful in the winter. There are so many little gardens and you wouldn't think they'd be much to look at covered in snow, but there's something so magical about it all I could have stayed outdoors all day. And I went skating on the river – " She caught the alarmed look in his eye, and said quickly, " – oh, I made sure to keep in the marked areas, of course. And I explored ever so many small streets I didn't even know existed. And I found the sweetest little bakery which makes the best strudel I've ever had…"

She was rambling. "Why didn't you call me?" His voice was low.

Maria stopped. She swallowed nervously. "Oh, Georg – I couldn't get in the way of you and the children – "

"Maria. This isn't about the children. They would have been delighted to have you spend the holidays. As would I. What is it?"

She hesitated, and looked away. But they were close enough together that he could see her pupils dilating with some unsaid emotion.

"Tell me." His voice was gentle.

"I was – I was frightened."

"Frightened?"

"Well, no, no – I was… confused."

"Confused." Georg echoed, his voice careful. He searched her face. She was pale, eyes darting away in agitation as she struggled to find the right words. "Hmm." He murmured, and lapsed into thoughtful silence. When she finally looked at him again, his gaze was tender. "So was I."

Maria's breathing stumbled. "You were?" She whispered.

"Yes." He paused. "You see, I was trying to figure out how it happened to be that I just couldn't seem to stop thinking about you."

"Oh!" The sound was half-exclamation, half-gasp. Maria's face registered incredulous shock. "I couldn't stop thinking about you, either!" Her cheeks were flushed. "There were times, I felt… that night, after the play…"

"I know – "

"When our eyes met, oh, I could hardly breathe!"

"I know. Oh, darling, I know."

"I – I wanted…" Her blush deepened.

Georg leaned into the space between them, his voice a whisper in her ear. "Yes, I know." He took her chin in his fingers, slowly guiding her face to his, giving her plenty of time to withdraw. Her eyes were huge, but she came willingly, with no hint of resistance or uncertainty.

Their lips met in the slightest of pressures and sweetest of surrenders, both confession and answer. He exhaled against her lips, and felt her sigh into his mouth.

When they parted, she pulled back to look at him. Her glance, seeking yet shy, was another kiss. Gently, he traced the side of her face, his fingers sliding along her jaw, the curve of her neck, tangling in her hair, and coming to rest at the back of her head. "Maria…" He whispered helplessly, reverently.

Her head tipped back against his hand, her eyes closing. She made a low hum as he kissed her forehead. Kissed the bridge of her nose. Her eyelids. The corner of her lips. Learning her scent. Imprinting her features against his lips. Slowly, lingeringly. It was almost a relief, touching her this way.

His hand traced the length of her collarbone, sliding under her coat as he eased it off her shoulders. "I want to see you," he murmured. She arched her back, letting it fall to the ground. Mirroring his move, her hands slipped under his jacket, right next to his heart. He exhaled, marveling at how well they fit together. He felt her hands tighten against his chest as he grazed his lips across hers. It was slow, and she was exquisite. Suddenly, she tugged him closer by his lapels, pressing into him, and he obliged, surprised and delighted by her bold move. His sound of approval came low in his throat, and he slipped an arm around her, holding her against him. Their kiss became desperate. He nipped lightly at her lower lip, and she whimpered. Her lips parted, allowing him access. He groaned as he explored her mouth, coaxing her tongue into his, as he pressed her against the wall, her hips slotted against his. A small moan escaped her as she arched into him. She was trembling.

He pulled back, and her eyes fluttered open, perplexed. "You're cold," he murmured.

Her gaze still on his mouth, she shook her head.

"You're shivering."

He frowned. The reason why she had been wearing her coat indoors suddenly dawned on him. "This place is freezing."

Maria laughed, a breathless little sound against his neck. "I don't _feel_ cold."

"You can't stay here." Georg had been so focused on the woman in front of him since his arrival that he hadn't bothered to remove his coat, hadn't realized that his breath made little swirls in the air when he spoke, hadn't noticed that the furniture was frosty under his hands. Her flat had no heating. Georg drew her back toward him, and this time, she brought her hands up to his neck. He couldn't resist running a thumb along her swollen lower lip. Wonder, and desire, in equal measure. "Maria. Stay with me."

* * *

A/N: A little angsty, but I've always wanted to explore G's mindset as he realizes his attraction for Maria (I don't believe for a minute it was really Elsa's "somewhere out there is a young woman..." that did it.) As always, thank you for reading! xx

(ETA: I didn't mean it was Elsa's comment that launched G's attraction for Maria. But for an intuitive man experienced in love, I was always fascinated by how he handled his love for Maria. It almost seemed like Elsa's comment gave a kind of permission he refused to give himself.)


	12. Welcome Home

So first of all, I'd just like to say a huge THANK YOU to all my amazing reviewers. This is the first time in my very long FF history where I have reached 100 reviews - it's symbolically a huge milestone for me, because of the handful of non-one shots I have attempted, I have finished exactly zero (and haven't even attempted it in the last decade :P) But I am so inspired by this community of readers and writers I am determined to craft THIS story to the end, and I wouldn't have even remotely gotten this far without all your support.

That being said, life is crazy these days, so also, thank you for all your patience. ;) Hope you enjoy. xx

* * *

Chapter 11

Welcome Home

Georg could only be thankful there were no other cars on the road to Aigen. The icy roads were treacherous enough, and he fought to keep control of the wheel. But even as he strained to see past the powdered snow swirling up to meet the windshield, he couldn't help but glance over at Maria every so often, a pull beyond his control.

She was here, sitting beside him, driving with him to his home. Even thought the arrangement was temporary, it was an offer he probably should have though twice about making. He knew the transgression he was committing, inviting a woman into his home with the knowledge that they would be staying under one roof, together, without a chaperone. Instead, he felt his heart pause in his throat as he waited for her answer. She had blinked a couple of times, then nodded. "Okay," she acquiesced quietly.

He exhaled, as his heart resumed beating once more.

Georg had waited for her to gather her things. The ghost of her lips against his and the memory of her arching into his touch had left a deep ache within him. He wanted to undo the buttons of her sweater, slide off her blouse, tug down her voluminous skirt. Wanted to kiss her everywhere, touch her everywhere. Wanted to hear her as he undressed her, caressed her, coaxed her to open for him. Wanted to take her. Possess her. Mark her as his. He couldn't help but imagine it, the most exquisite of tortures and greatest of pleasures.

It took every effort not to follow as she disappeared into her bedroom.

When Maria finally reappeared, coming toward him with ancient carpetbag in one hand and guitar case in the other, smiling shyly, eyes full of trust, Georg gained control of his wayward thoughts. He wanted her, desperately, but he wanted to love her, wanted to protect her, wanted to show her how worthy of love she was. He wanted to court her. To give her the hearts and flowers she deserved from the start. To earn each touch and every kiss.

But still, Georg couldn't help but glance in her direction on the passenger side. Maria was angled away from him, giving him plenty of opportunity to look. She was staring out the window, elbow propped against the door, chin resting on her hand – the look of a dreamer. It was a typical Salzburg countryside and a drive he'd done hundreds of times. He'd long become immune to its charms; trees, mountains, lakes, once you've seen one you've seen them all. But not for Maria. He pictured the drive out of town from her eyes, the narrow streets giving way to wider lanes lined with glistening trees, houses opening to open pastures covered in snow, mountains dusted in white stretching alongside them. She was enraptured, and he marveled right along with her.

Georg slowed as they approached the villa. Maria glanced his way in silent question, and he nodded. Her eyes sparkled as she sat up a little straighter. He watched her carefully as the front gates swung open, and heard her soft gasp as he drove into the courtyard. He saw what she saw; the wide sweep of the roundabout, the expansive, silent yard, the ornate, towering façade of the villa. She stared with huge eyes as they pulled up to the front door. Georg could sense her taking a deep, steady breath as she processed it all, refusing to be perturbed. He felt a sudden stab of misgiving. Had he overwhelmed her? Failed to warn her? Had she, in their many interactions, not know what she was getting into?

The row of windows directly overhead suddenly flared into life, and they both looked upward toward the warm glow. The nursery. The children would be done their schoolwork by now, and, if he knew them at all, were likely squabbling over which songs to practice so they could perform for him and Max after supper. They did this almost nightly, much to his delight and Max's amusement. He'd even once or twice taken the guitar from Liesl to coax a long-forgotten melody or two of his own.

Maria couldn't have known this, but he saw her smile slightly as she looked up at the row of lights, warm and inviting, her skin radiant in its glow. Georg felt an aching fondness, a closeness to her despite the space between them. He laid a hand lightly on her arm, and she turned to him. "Maria." His voice was low. "I'm glad you're here. I've wanted you to see this."

"Oh, Georg, it's a beautiful – "

He shook his head. "No, darling – " The term of endearment slipped out before he realized it, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. He paused, before continuing. "Maria, this is your handiwork."

She looked perplexed, and he explained. "For years, this was just a yard. Just a building. You helped turn it into a home."

Maria's eyes were bright as she looked at him.

"I spent years running from this place. You, darling," this time, he said it deliberately, and saw her flush and look down, hiding a smile " – you helped me find a reason to stay."

He ran his hand gently along her arm, taking her hand. Her fingers intertwined with his. Idly, his thumb drew circles against hers. They sat in the car, neither quite ready to disturb the intimate silence between them. In the next moment, Georg noticed Franz making his way through the double doors toward them, businesslike in his efficiency. Maria saw him too, and straightened, pulling her hand from his as Franz reached the car.

Dutifully, Franz opened the passenger door, letting in a blast of freezing air. He offered his hand to Maria. Georg opened his own door, stepping out of the car and bracing against the cold in time to hear Maria's bright, "good afternoon, sir!" Only a second's delay betrayed Franz's bewilderment at Georg's effervescent guest, as he replied in his dry, polite voice, "good afternoon…"

"Fraulein," Georg supplied, making his way around the front of the car.

Franz nodded. "Fraulein," he echoed, extending a hand for Maria's belongings.

"Oh, that's quite alright," Maria said cheerfully, shaking her head. "This is a very old carpetbag. The handle falls off if you don't carry it a certain way. I've mastered the trick of it, so I'd better hang on to it."*

Georg smothered a smirk as a bemused Franz gaped at her, before nodding his acquiescence and moving instead to park the car. He picked up Maria's guitar, and guided her up the steps. She gave him a swift smile before stepping into the house, and he felt an unexpected surge of pride and protectiveness, like a young groom who had just carried his bride over the threshold.

 _Welcome home._

Maria stopped abruptly on the landing, eyes wide and jaw dropping in shock as she took in the grand entrance. Her eyes traced the double grand staircases leading to the upper story balconies, up to the giant gold-wrought crystal chandelier suspended over the foyer, and back down to the number of oversized doors lining both walls. She seemed transfixed, and he stayed one step behind her as she made her way down from the landing. Although he could hear both their steps, he had the impression that she was tiptoeing through the space as though afraid to disturb it. She looked to and fro, unsure which way to turn.

He was about to gently catch her attention, when she gravitated away from him toward a set of double doors. Georg's heart accelerated, acutely aware of what lay behind them. _How could she have known?_

Maria leaned into the door, trying to peek inside, her hand coming to rest against the handle. Georg felt a thrill of apprehension, and found he was holding his breath. It was the room that held the happiest of moments, and the most unbearable of memories. He hadn't avoided it, specifically, but there had been no reason to enter it, until now.

Gently, she eased open one of the doors, peering into the darkness. Her mouth fell open as her eyes adjusted. The gold gilded walls and brightly coloured art frescos threw the light streaming from the doorway around the room in a hopeful way, giving it an ethereal glow. She pushed the door open wider, entering the room, her hands against her cheeks in awe.

Georg followed her into the ballroom, stopping at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes trained on her as she wandered toward the middle of the room. _The first to walk across this floor in years,_ he thought, her soft steps resounding in the silence.

In the center of the room, under the biggest chandelier, she stopped. Then she spun. Twirled.

Belonged. Waltzing her way into his ballroom the same way she had taken over his heart.

Georg inhaled. She seemed to have forgotten him. He walked over until he stood next to her. "I see you've found the ballroom," he murmured.

She turned to him, her expression incandescent, excited. "What grand parties you must have had, Georg!"

He nodded. "'Had' being the operative word," he reminded her, although his eyes crinkled. Her delight was infectious. "As you can see, it needs a thorough clean and a good airing out."

"Hmm…" Maria looked about dreamily. "I can just imagine it. The orchestra. The champagne. These beautiful lit chandeliers. A room full of dancers."

The very thought made him want to take her up in his arms. He stepped closer. "Oh? If it were up to me, I would invite nobody at all."

She looked briefly disappointed. "I understand – "

He shook his head, cutting her off. "We could still host a ball. With music. Champagne. Dancing."

She laughed. "You're going to have a party without any guests?"

"Hmm. You see…" he caught her slender waist against his arm, and her laughter faltered as she met his heated gaze. "I only need one partner." He took her hand with his free one, but instead of assuming a closed dance position, tugged her against him. "I'd only want one partner…" his voice was a whisper against the shell of her ear. He felt her tremble. "I'd want to spend the entire evening with her…"

And then her lips were against his, warm and urgent.

He felt something give, as he kissed her back, dragging his teeth against her lower lip until she whimpered for more. Desperately, they reached for each other.

Touching.

Marking.

Claiming.

He felt euphoric. Invincible.

Then, there came a sharp knock against the half-open door. They sprang apart. Maria stared at him, wide-eyed, as Georg stepped away from her.

Franz stepped into view, framed ominously in the doorway. "Captain, there's a telephone call for you in the office."

Georg looked at Maria, flushed and breathless at his side, decidedly avoiding Franz's piercing stare. Her blouse had come un-tucked from her skirt – he remembered the feel of her waist in his hands, and had an urge to tell Franz to go to hell. She met his eyes, giving him a half shy, half impish smile. He returned it sheepishly. If they had been left to their own devices, would they have…? In the middle of his ballroom floor?

Georg sighed, and nodded. "Tell them I'll be right there."

"Very well sir," Franz nodded, disappearing again.

He looked at Maria again, reaching over to smooth her neckline, running a thumb along her collarbone. "Will you be alright? I have a few things I need to take care of."

She nodded easily. "Of course. I know you're busy – "

"I'll have Frau Schmidt prepare a room for you – "

"Who is – "

There was a light tap on the door, and there stood his housekeeper, as if summoned by the wind. Georg smiled in greeting, not at all surprised at her timely appearance. Having worked for him for over two decades, his head of staff had developed an uncanny ability to materialize when most needed. He gave her quick instructions to set Maria up in a guest suite. A strange look crossed her face, but all she said was "that sounds just fine, Captain."

He turned to Maria. "This is Frau Schmidt, my housekeeper."

Maria smiled politely. "How do you do?"

"Come, Fraulein Maria," the matron instructed, her voice stern but her eyes kind, "I'll show you to your room."

Maria nodded, and she and Georg followed the housekeeper out of the ballroom. At the foot of the stairs, she turned to him. He wanted to hold her, but with Frau Schmidt looking on, he restrained himself to a light touch at the small of her back. But he couldn't keep the softness out of his voice, and felt the good housekeeper stare as he murmured, "I'll see you at supper, Maria – " He drew a little closer, and added playfully, " – remember, six o'clock sharp."

Maria saluted him. "Of course, Captain," she chirped sweetly.

Unusually obedient, Maria followed Frau Schmidt up the stairs, leaving Georg aching to respond to her challenge.

He shook his head, thoughts full of Maria, and headed across the entrance hall toward his office. He nearly walked headlong into Max, who was strolling toward the front doors with his coat over his arm.

"Ah Georg – just the person I was hoping to see. I'm just about to take your car out for a little spin."

"And when have you ever asked for permission?"

"Ah-ha. I'm not asking, I'm informing," Max corrected, entirely unabashed.

"It's a blizzard outside."

The other man waved him off. "I'll be careful. I just wanted to let you know that I have asked Frau Schmidt to set up one of your guest suites."

Georg did a double take. "You did? But you couldn't have known she was coming."

"Of course I did. She sent me a telegram." Max smiled brightly, before puckering his lips in confusion. "Wait – _you_ know she's coming?"

"I..." Feeling that all reason had dropped out of the conversation, Georg asked, "who are you talking about?"

Max looked equally bemused. "Who are _you_ talking about?"

"Maria."

" _Fraulein_ Maria?"

"Yes."

Max stared at him, his bewildered expression frozen on his face. Feeling an unreasonable need to justify himself, Georg added, "It's temporary."

"But – "

"Her apartment has no heating. I couldn't let her stay there."

Max continued to stare. Georg found himself getting annoyed at his friend's erratic behavior, when the other man let out a long whistle. "RMS Titanic is about to hit the iceberg," he muttered under his breath.

"Pardon me?"

Max cleared his throat. "Georg. Elsa is coming."

Georg froze. " _What_ did you say _?"_

"She just sent me a telegram." Max reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "Says she's passing through on her way back from Munich, and there's some business she was hoping to conduct in the area. She asked that I pick her up from the train station."

Georg's eyes narrowed. He glared at Max in resentment, although he couldn't be sure if it was Elsa's gall or Max's complicity that infuriated him more. As head of the house, shouldn'the be the one extending invitations? And he'd already invited the only woman he truly wanted in his home.

He exhaled, frustrated. _Why didn't she ask_ me? The question sounded petty even in his head.

Max raised his eyebrows knowingly. He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it, and instead spread his hands in supplication. _Because there would be a very good chance you'd refuse._

Georg paused, well aware of what Max wasn't saying. He'd been wondering the same thing. If Elsa Schraeder had written _him_ asking to visit, would he have declined her?

He sighed out loud. Although the last thing he wanted to do was entertain another guest with Maria in his home, especially one as high maintenance as he was sure Elsa would be, he knew he would never refuse. Their communication had lagged in the last few months as he rediscovered his life, and the attraction they'd once had had cooled as he understood what – and who – it was he truly wanted. The man he'd become under Maria's influence was able to recognize that Elsa had enabled him. Enabled him to seek distraction after distraction. Enabled him to outrun his memories. Enabled him to keep his grief at bay. But it was these same actions which indebted him to her, the woman who had taken the time to salvage the husk of a man he'd been, who'd saved his reputation and very likely his health by keeping him so madly active he forgot to drink. Elsa was a social powerhouse with a shrewd and unholy love of business. She'd reached past the churlish resistance of a broken man and taken him with her into her world of ballrooms and boardrooms, and even, on occasion, her bedroom – the least he could do was host her in his home for a few days.

Max waited until he saw Georg's absentmindedly nod of assent. "Well, I'm off to the station then," he said dryly. "Looks like it'll be a full house. Should be exciting, don't you think?"

Chuckling, Max walked past him, leaving Georg staring speechless in his wake.

* * *

The room Maria was given was large and spacious, its lofty ceilings and picture windows anchored by a few well-appointed, sturdy pieces of furniture.

It didn't take long for Maria to put away the few items she'd brought with her into the ornate chesterfield. In fact, she was done before Frau Schmidt had finished drawing all the curtains in the room.

"Well, how do you like your room, Fraulein Maria?" The housekeeper asked, reappearing from the en-suite, where she had taken a stack of fluffy white towels.

Maria nodded appreciatively. The truth was, she felt a bit lost in this grand space, where the sheer size of the room seemed to swallow her very thoughts, and everything – from the muslin drapes at the window to the clean white linens on the bed – seemed so delicate and luxurious Maria was sure she would break something before her stay was over. But Frau Schmidt was looking at her expectantly, and it was clear the Von Trapp housekeeper took great pride in her domain.

"You mustn't mind the smell – this suite isn't used much. But I've already had the main guest rooms prepared for Baroness Schraeder."

"Baroness Schraeder?" Maria repeated, escorting Frau Schmidt to the door.

"Yes, she's coming in on the afternoon train from Munich. Dropping by, as Herr Detweiler puts it. But if it's anything like the time the Captain visited her in Vienna last summer – " Frau Schmidt chuckled, "she'll be here a month!"

Suddenly, Maria felt the room grow bigger and colder in a way that made her dizzy. "Who is Baroness Schraeder?" She asked in a voice that was most unlike her own.

"Baroness Elsa Schraeder. One of Vienna's most affluent widows – if not the most," Frau Schmidt said dispassionately. "She's turned being a widow into an art – hostess of the grandest parties in Vienna and has a head for business, besides. Men just fall at her feet, I hear." She stopped in the doorway and turned to Maria, who had lagged behind, frozen to the spot. "I shouldn't be saying this, not to you – I mean, I don't know you at all…" The housekeeper leaned in conspiratorially. "But if you ask me, the Captain's thinking very seriously about marrying the woman before the start of summer."

"Oh!"

 _Georg! Marrying Baroness Elsa Schraeder! Oh!_

Maria could hardly think. She felt like she had the time she had almost caught hypothermia (the time Georg held her along the riverbed) – cold and numb.

"Fraulein Maria? Are you quite alright?" She registered Frau Schmidt's voice from very far away, and nodded weakly.

"You're, why, you're shaking. Are you cold? Should I draw you a bath?" Maria blinked, willing herself to focus on the voice. The housekeeper's face was full of concern.

 _Cold? She had been on fire in the ballroom, when Georg had whispered sweet nothings – oh, but it had been everything! – against her ear, her lips, her skin. Her entire body had ached, and she had wanted to give herself entirely to him…_

Maria took a deep breath. Her chest burned, and it was a very different kind of pain.

"I'm just… Oh, that's wonderful," she choked out, her voice trembling. "The children will have a mother again."

Frau Schmidt gave her a strange look, clearly bewildered as to why she seemed so touched by another couple's impending engagement. "Hmm. Well, good afternoon, Fraulein."

"Good afternoon," Maria whispered.

As the other woman left, Maria turned and leaned against the closed door. She wished she could cry. She wished she had a _reason_ to cry. For how could she mourn something that had never existed? Who could she blame for dashing a hope that had never been hers?

Frau Schmidt, who had betrayed her employer's confidence without any awareness of the impact it would have on his guest?

The extraordinary Baroness Elsa Schraeder? Even her _name_ was alluring, rolling off the tongue and falling from the lips. Could Maria blame the Baroness for taking Georg from her, when it had been Maria who had gotten in the way?

Georg? Had it been Georg who had misled her? Who had given her more than he was free to give? But how could she blame him, when it was first in her dreams that he had shown her what it meant to want? When it was her dream-Georg who had come to her, and together, they had learned they could give each other everything? For Heavens sake, it had been dream-Georg who had coaxed the secrets from her body, and once sent her into such frenzy that she woke shouting in ecstasy.

Oh!

Maria shook uncontrollably.

Perhaps she did need a hot bath.

The act of going into the en suite to start the bath gave her a manageable list of tasks. Start the water. Adjust the temperature. Pour the bubbles. Undress.

Maria climbed into the bath, and closed her eyes.

Georg is going to be married.

To Baroness Elsa Schraeder.

Georg had never, not once, in their many walks and talks, mentioned Baroness Elsa Schraeder. They had talked about Vienna, of course, it being one of the many topics they seemed to have in common. She knew that he was familiar enough with the city to have his favourite locales, and was able to poke fun of it in a way that only came with spending countless hours understanding its many idiosyncrasies.

Had he… had he spent them all in the company of Baroness Elsa Schraeder?

Maria couldn't stop herself from wondering how she looked (striking). How she dressed (elegantly). How she sounded (sophisticated). But most of all, Maria wondered how Baroness Elsa Schraeder had captured Georg's heart, and why he had never mentioned there was a part of it which was decidedly not grieving, after all.

She could not bring herself to believe that Georg had lied to her.

Surely, surely the angry, broken man she had met, who had so desperately wanted to be a better father – surely he had been real? Surely the generous, thoughtful, caring man she had come to know over the months, who had supported her every move and defended her against the world, and rescued her from a sinking dory – surely he had been real?

He was. He had to be.

But the man who had looked at her with such burning intensity, who had kissed her until she had melted in his arms, who had held her like she was something precious, who had whispered that he wanted to spend the entire evening with her?

Maria felt her cheeks burn with humiliation. How could she have deluded herself into thinking that he was real?

Georg had been nothing but kind. He had been a friend to her when she had been friendless. He had looked out for her. He wanted her to succeed. He _cared_ about her, Maria did not doubt that. But she had gone and spun his kindness into longing, into desire, into something… much more. And what had she done – she'd blurted that she couldn't stop thinking about him! That she wanted him! In her naivety, she had led him on, believing he was attracted to her, that he belonged to her. The way he was in her dreams.

And had he – had he been playing along? Afraid of upsetting her? Taking pity on her? Or had she been a harmless distraction while he waited for his leading Viennese lady?

It was all too much, and too embarrassing.

Maria tipped her head backward against the edge of the tub, as though her head had become too heavy for her body. She stayed in that position, the same thoughts swirling in her mind over and over again, threatening to choke her. But even after the water had gone cold, she found no answers.

She had once taught herself to believe that nothing was out of reach, and yet…

Images of Georg's beautiful estate and breathtaking home floated past her thoughts, mingling with imaginary flashes of party guests, men in suits and women in gowns – the ballroom at its finest. Baron Georg Von Trapp waltzing with a beautiful woman in his arms.

… Perhaps this was a world that wasn't hers for the taking.

* * *

Maria was determined to arrive on time to supper.

She would not let Georg or the children – or Max, for that matter – know what that one afternoon had done to her. She would not let her world fall apart, even though she couldn't be sure what was left to hold it together.

 _Little by little, things have to get better._

Maria had spent too long in the bath, but her modest toileting routine still left her ahead of schedule. She wore a rather starched turquoise dress she had picked up from the charity box. It was pretty, but cut in a slender sheath silhouette that she would never have chosen for herself, giving her the feeling she was pretending to be someone else.

 _Fitting_ , she thought wryly, as she slipped out of her rooms. She was early, but she guessed she would need some time to find the dining hall, and she was right. It took her no less than five wrong turns and three dead ends before she could hear the chatter of the children. They must already be in the dining room. Maria followed the sound, but before she got there, a door to the left opened, and Georg appeared. He was walking next to a tall, exquisite woman. She was wearing a floating lilac gown, cinched to accentuate a slender waist, and her hair was arranged in becoming coifs that framed her refined features. She was laughing at something Georg had said, the sound low and breathy.

Baroness Elsa Schraeder was every bit as striking, elegant, and sophisticated as she'd imagined – every inch Georg's aristocratic counterpart.

They saw each other at the same time, and everyone stopped. How could he be so close, and yet so far from her? Maria felt a lump rise into her throat. Her heart began beating furiously against her ribs.

She could feel Georg's gaze on her, and knew he would be able to read her telltale flush, but she kept her eyes on the beautiful woman at his side.

 _Steady._

"You must be Baroness Schraeder," Maria managed, forcing a smile and stepping forward.

Georg, too, took a step toward her. "Maria – "

"Fraulein Maria." The Baroness sounded quite as ease, a small smile on her lips. It surprised her that this stunning woman knew who she was. As if she could read her mind, Baroness Schraeder quipped, "why, you're the young teacher Max has been raving non-stop about. And you've worked miracles on the children. How wonderful!"

Maria ducked her head. "They're wonderful children."

"My dear, but you're too modest." Baroness Schraeder's voice was not loud, but her tone was emphatic. "Isn't she, Georg?" She placed her hand on Georg's forearm.

He smiled wanly at his companion. "The children think the world of her."

Even though Maria wasn't looking at him, she could tell the words were genuine. Her heart constricted.

"Remembering when we were talking of boarding school? You were having _such_ a time keeping a governess. How providential that you were able to find Fraulein Maria!"

 _Boarding school! Governess!_

Maria couldn't help but look at Georg in shock and indignation. Has Georg and Baroness Schraeder even talked of sending the children away? Was that the kind of future he had envisioned? But he had turned to his companion, subtly shaking off her hand. "Maria is not here as a governess, Elsa," he corrected patiently, though she thought perhaps she detected a hint of annoyance.

He looked back toward her, and their gaze locked. He took another step in her direction. "Maria – " he started, his entire body leaning toward her, reaching for her.

Maria drew back hurriedly. "Captain."

He paused where he was. His lips tightened, and she saw his fingers flex at his side. She knew, without having to see the look in his eyes, that she had hurt him. They stared at each other, the tension palpable between them.

She swallowed. Behind him, Elsa was looking curiously from one to the other.

At that moment, Max popped out of the dining room. He took in the scene swiftly, giving each of them an appraising look, and then chirped, "Are you three going to stand there all evening? I'm famished."

Elsa laughed. "As am I. I smell schnitzel, and it is just mouthwatering." She turned to him. "Georg?" She looped her arm through his, although he had not offered it – a woman used to getting her way.

Georg's gaze lingered on hers. _Come_ , said his eyes. But even Maria could see that he couldn't possibly offer his arm to her when he already led a lady on the other.

She shrugged slightly and gave him a small smile, although both felt forced, indicating they should go ahead. He nodded. Elsa Schraeder smiled gracefully at Maria, and together, the baron and baroness walked into the dining room.

Maria followed them, pausing for a moment to gather herself, grateful that neither could see the tears that had sprung into her eyes.

* * *

A/N: *in keeping with my theme, loose quote from Anne of Green Gables


	13. Stay

Oh gosh. I can't apologize enough for my delay in delivering this chapter.

Not that it's any excuse, but I had to spend some time overhauling the rest of this story (somewhere within the last few chapters, M and G's relationship started deviating from my original draft) - hopefully now that I've set it on track again, things will get a-movin'. The end is in sight...ish...

Thank you all for following along! xx

* * *

Chapter 12 - Stay

Her dreams did not remember – or would not acknowledge – that Georg Von Trapp was soon to be engaged.

First, it was Georg coming to comfort her; strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, murmuring soothingly into her ear. _It's going to be fine, darling. I'll take care of you._

Maria had woken, to find the pillow pressed against her cheek wet with tears.

And then they were tangled together, discovering the sensitive spots behind her ear, underneath his jaw, above her collarbone, the tips of his fingers. Tasting, touching, feeling. A need threatening to tip.

That time, she had woken, dazed and gasping, fingers clutching at her sheets.

She opened her window. But even when the frigid night air got to be too much and she'd had to close them, Maria continued to sit at the window seat, looking out into the darkness, afraid to sleep.

And when she finally did, her dreams were of belonging. She was included. She was someone's beloved. She was part of a family. Maria woke, nestled against fluffy pillows and soft blankets, feeling coddled, cherished, content. The details escaped her, but the warmth remained, and she gave a little sigh of pleasure. Oh, but this bed was comfortable! Maria blinked, feeling a rush of eager anticipation for the day ahead.

Then, like water thrown on a candle, her light-filled dream world collided viciously with the memories of yesterday evening. Maria buried her face into her pillow.

Shame. Anger. Confusion.

Heartbreak.

For in the soft morning light, in the stillness of her room, with no soul as witness, she could admit it. She had hoped… it had been a wild sort of hope, nestled secretly against her heart. A hope she had nurtured in the last few weeks, which had blossomed when Georg came to see her yesterday… was it only yesterday? Maria hadn't given name to it, hadn't fully realized it – but perhaps that only made it worse, as over the course of the evening Maria observed Georg and Baroness Elsa Schrader and watched her secret brought to light and then dashed before her eyes.

She saw how his dark eyes flickered repeatedly to her during dinner, his gaze questioning. What a fool she'd been, to read in them a promise that was never hers to claim!

And out of nowhere, she would suddenly remember the way they had kissed – in her apartment, in his ballroom – the memory flooding her senses, leaving her stunned, yet profoundly embarrassed.

Memories that should never have been hers.

But what pierced Maria's defenses most of all was the tall, regal woman at his side – a woman who moved through the villa as though it was hers, whose ease and familiarity around Georg told Maria more than ever she did not belong. Could never belong.

Even as the shock of Baroness Schraeder's arrival – of her _existence_ – wore off, the sting remained.

Over dinner, Baroness Schraeder kept up an easy flow of conversation, recounting her time abroad in a way that had the children gazing in rapt attention and Max guffawing in amusement.

Baroness Schraeder did not need Georg to gently direct her to the parlour afterward, all the while Maria lingered behind, unsure and unhappy. She had jumped as he guided her with a light touch on her shoulder. _This way, Maria_ , he had murmured.

Baroness Schraeder accepted the honey-tinted liqour Georg offered with grace, settling down on the plush sofa with impeccable posture. He had hesitated then, looking at Maria, who had selected a stiff armchair on the opposite side of the room as the children piled onto the carpet between them. She shook her head, and he nodded before pouring a glass for himself.

Maria felt only slightly more at ease as the children put on a little concert for them. They must have been practicing, singing songs she had never taught them and doing a marvelous job. They looked at her eagerly, both seeking a teacher's approval and inviting her to be a part of the fun. As a conspirator. As a friend. If only she could join them! But Baroness Schraeder's pronouncements of "how darling!" gave her pause. And she was in no mood to be scrutinized by Max or Georg, who were looking on fondly, both clearly used to the children's evening ritual.

After the children were sent to bed, Maria sat silently in her armchair as Elsa told Max and Georg about the new Stravinsky opera that had opened in Vienna. Maria had studied Stravinsky as a college student, and had a lot to say about his works, but the Baroness seemed more keen to expound upon which of her actress friends had which parts. Georg nodded along, murmuring here and scoffing there, evidently familiar with all her friends.

The conversation flowed into business. Baroness Schraeder had a knowledgeable grasp of the stock market, and she and Max gleefully dissected the possibly of a looming North American market crisis, a discussion which Maria could make neither heads nor tails of. But she sat tall, pretending to be interested, pretending not to see the way Georg had distanced himself from the conversation and had leaned back against his chair, looking at her thoughtfully.

Baroness Schraeder and Max had just moved onto discussing the business acquaintances in the area she was hoping to meet – Max, in true fashion, had an update on every one of them – when Gretl poked her head back into the room.

Georg spotted his young daughter first. He half-rose from his chair, looking at her with a look of indulgent fondness that caused Maria to turn toward the door.

"What are you doing out of bed, Gretl?" He asked.

The little girl looked around the formal room at the group of adults. She hesitated, but then asked in a small, resolute voice, "can Fraulein Maria put me to bed?"

"Put you to bed?" Georg echoed, eyebrows raised. He addressed his daughter, but looked at _her_. "Gretl, darling, Fraulein Maria isn't your – "

– _governess._

He paused, sounding sheepish.

But Maria had jumped up. "I'd love to," she cut in. Her eyes met Georg's for the first time that evening. She was surprised to see a strange intensity in them, hidden behind half-hearted exasperation, and she blushed. "That is, if it's okay with your father."

"Of course, but – "

His answer was drown out by a chorus of "me toos!" as Louisa, then Brigitta and Marta, appeared behind Gretl, all looking at her hopefully.

Maria excused herself, backing out of the room under Georg's stare. The last thing she saw was Baroness Schraeder resting a hand lightly on his arm, as he turned to her with a faint smile.

* * *

She couldn't stay.

She had to tell him she couldn't stay.

Surely last night was only a glimpse of things to come, if she stayed. The uncertainty, the doubt, that little, familiar ache she had felt all her life, knowing she did not belong. The Baroness had not caused it. She has merely highlighted just how ill suited Maria was amongst the kind of society Georg inhabited. Even if he wasn't about to be engaged to the most desirable of widows in his social circle, Maria could never pretend, not even for him.

But oh, it was hard to let go! Over the years, the people in her life had been transient. She'd come to learn that she must rely on herself – that as long as she held her aspirations and ambitions close, she could find a place in this world. She'd never imagined that an aristocratic naval captain would carve a place for himself right alongside her. He was someone she trusted. Someone who believed her. Believed _in_ her. Someone who could challenge and comfort her at the same time. Having to cast him aside was agony.

Maria set out resolutely after freshening up for the day. None of the children were awake yet, but there was a quiet sort of energy to the morning as she peeked into open doors along the hall and saw the house staff getting ready for the day. In her mind, she turned over what she wanted to say when she saw Georg, and she reached the grand staircase leading to the entrance hall before realizing she had no idea where she was going.

She hesitated, when she saw Franz walking across the main floor below her. She started to call out to him, but he was already starting up the curving staircase toward her. _For_ her.

His greeting was courteous but distant. "The Captain would like to see you in his study, Fraulein."

"I was just – " Maria started to explain how she had been looking for him, but the words caught on her tongue. Her heart felt heavy. Would thinking of him always be this unbearable, from now on? Instead, she nodded her thanks as the Von Trapp butler directed her toward the Captain's study.

The door to his office was half-open. Her eyes moved from the empty leather chair behind his large mahogany desk, across a wall of bookcases, across a console table where several heavy tomes sat in contrast to the stack of delicate fabrics beside it. Maria's heart leapt. She knew them. Wore them.

These too, she would have to let go.

Swallowing, she forced her gaze to move on, to where two men were seated in wingback chairs beside the fireplace. They were half-turned from the door, neither noticing her arrival. She could hear Max's bright voice and Georg's reply in low, smooth, tenor. The very sound caused something in her chest to tumble. Maria hesitated, steeling her resolve.

Let go.

Let go.

She knocked. Georg and Max looked toward her at the same time, both standing courteously as they saw her in the doorway.

Max was a picture of delight, his smile genial. Georg only looked at her, the spark in his eyes offset by the stern line of his mouth.

"Ah, Fraulein," Max greeted her. "Come join us." Georg remained silent, the slight tilt of his head a challenge. _You did not need to wait for permission yesterday._

Maria looked away. She did not want to think about yesterday. Did not want to think about her awe as she opened the ballroom door, like a young girl stepping into an enchanted palace.

Maria took the third seat by the fireplace, separated from Georg by a narrow end table.

"Maria – "

It sounded like a caress.

She swallowed, then blurted, "I - I can't stay any longer," the same time Georg leaned back against his chair and told her, "you can stay as long as you need."

They stared at each other, the silence interrupted by Max's surprised chuckle.

His voice was urgent. Hers a whisper. "What do you mean?"

Neither responded.

Max cleared his throat, the sound deafening in the silence. "A pipe in your building burst overnight."

"What?" Maria blinked, uncomprehendingly.

"I just heard word of it this morning," he continued. "The building's main water pipes exploded – a result of this freezing weather, no doubt. There is no running water to any of the apartments."

Maria had shot to her feet during his explanation, a silent cry in her head. Where could she go, if she could not go home?

"I – "

What could she say? How could she refuse his offer? The only choice she had been able to make to save whatever dignity she had left had been snatched from her. And now she would stay, not as a princess in a magic castle, but as a girl without a home. It was not to be affection, but charity, which would hold her.

She could not know that the two men who watched her saw the light go out in her eyes. Saw her face crumple and the tension drain from her body in defeat.

"No use worrying," Max told her kindly. "Just make yourself at home."

Maria nodded, trying to hide her dismay. Her body felt heavy, her mind numb, as though shrouded in a heavy layer of fog.

"Thank you," she whispered, nodding to Georg, then to Max, biting the inside of her cheek. She could cry when she got to the safety of her own room.

She turned to go, and had almost made it to the door when she heard him, a voice she could never ignore. "Maria. Stay." It wasn't quite a command. And it wasn't quite a plea.

She slowed, turning as though she were a marionette being pulled by a string. Georg had risen to his feet.

Max looked from one to the other. "I – uh… I think I'd better go see what Elsa is up to." He walked past the both of them, a sympathetic look on his face as he passed her.

"Yes?" It was an effort to make her voice even. For the first time since they'd become friends, she dreaded being alone with him.

Georg walked casually toward her, and her eyes followed, looking everywhere but meeting his gaze. The stiffness in the swing of his arms and the subtle clench of his jaw belied his indifference.

"I hope you don't think so little of me to believe I would ever offer you anything out of pity," he said tersely.

Maria was silent. Deep down, she knew he didn't think that of her. Furthermore, she knew she wasn't someone to be pitied. But given the circumstances, she just couldn't be sure anymore.

Georg's voice was flat, as though he was stating an obvious fact to an obtuse child, and offended that he had to do so. "I want you to stay. I'm asking that you stay."

Numbly, she nodded acquiescence. She both wanted to hear him say it, but wished that he hadn't.

It could never have the meaning she wanted them to have.

Georg regarded her silently for a long moment. "Something has happened," he remarked finally, when she didn't reply. "Something has made you unsure. Frightened. Full of doubt."

Maria shook her head. "Please," she addressed his right shoulder, "please don't ask me."

 _She couldn't bear to say it out loud._

Maria held still as he came to stand in front of her. "Was it last night?" He asked at last, his voice wary.

Her eyes flew to his face, his expression a mix of frustration and concern, and she opened her mouth to object. Her mind darted to the way he had appeared in her dreams; the tenderness, the adoration… but he couldn't know that.

"…I've forgotten what it's like with Elsa," he continued. Maria blinked in confusion, before realizing he was speaking about the evening in the parlour. "I knew you were miserable the entire evening."

"Uncomfortable," Maria corrected meekly. Goodness, had she been so obvious?

"I should have warned you, but I had no idea she was coming."

 _This is your house. Your guests. Your fiancé._ She looked down. "There was nothing you needed to warn against."

Georg shook his head. "If there wasn't, you wouldn't have escaped to put the children to bed," he pointed out.

"I felt more at home with the children," Maria acknowledged, bolder, feeling a spark ignite under the thick layer of haze in her mind as she remembered the Baroness's remark likening her to the help. "Perhaps I should have been the governess, after all."

It wasn't fair. Her quip wasn't fair. She didn't _want_ to be bitter.

His look of surprise melted into a faint smile of amusement. "I don't want you as their governess, Maria."

The spark flared, and she almost welcomed the outrage that overrode her despair. "I heard you were looking for one."

"I – " Georg hesitated, looking thoughtful instead of angry. "That was… before."

"Before what?" Maria challenged. "Before sending them to boarding school?"

Something in her heart clenched at the thought. That _couldn't_ be the life he wanted, could it?

He shook his head, on the defensive. "It wasn't like that," he said, as if reading her mind. "Elsa was making light of it. You know, Maria, what my life was like. I didn't understand the children. I didn't know what they needed. What _I_ needed." Georg paused, looking at her carefully. "I was going to say – that was before I met you."

Maria inhaled sharply, shocked by his admission. She felt the anger dissipate and the despair vanish, to be replaced by an intense ache that made it hard to breath.

"As for yesterday," he continued, his voice now smiling. "The children used to do that. Ask for their mother to put them to bed in front of everyone."

Maria froze. Never, in their entire acquaintance, had he given her a hint that he would come to think of her as their mother.

 _Gretl, Fraulein Maria isn't your –_

She swallowed.

"Look at me." He placed gentle, cool fingers under her chin.

She suppressed a flinch, pushing aside the desire to close her eyes. Her very skin seemed to want to respond to him. His warmth. His breath. His scent.

She lifted her eyes to meet his. He held her gaze, warm and waiting. And the heat became unbearable. Her mind protested, but the warning seemed so distant. Irrelevant.

"There." He murmured. "This is the Maria I left yesterday. Tell me – is it possible… or could I have just imagined it?" With his thumb, he traced her lower lip.

Maria sighed against his fingers. "I could ask you the same," she mumbled. Then, before she could catch herself, she added, "I didn't want it to end."

He exhaled, eyes half-lidded. "It doesn't have to end, Maria."

She had started reaching for him before the words registered.

 _But it did have to end._

 _It HAD ended._

"Georg," Maria tried to back up as his hand caught the curve of her waist, but her back hit the console. "Please – "

His lips were pressing kisses against her mouth. "Please… " she whispered again. "The Baroness – "

At that moment, a musical female voice floated under the door, as though summoned by Maria's words "… a little taste of Vienna."

Baroness Elsa Schraeder was coming toward the study.

Georg straightened, frowning, and Maria jumped guiltily.

This was wrong.

Perhaps there were women – and men – who did not mind this sort of dalliance. But Maria wasn't one of them. And she didn't believe Georg was, either. But somehow, they seemed to drive each other beyond the brink of their control.

She needed to let him go. She would fight her body, her heart, her _dreams,_ even, but she would do it.

A low male voice said something, and Maria caught the word "meeting", and her name.

A laugh. "Nonsense, Max. I have never had Georg refuse my coffee in the morning."

 _How many mornings had they spent together?_

The door was pushed open, and the Baroness stood on the threshold, wearing a salmon coloured suit over a polka dot blouse. Her eyes took in the scene before her, the Captain standing inches apart from the teacher of his children, who was flushed and trembling. Although she smiled at her, Maria could see a faint question in her eyes.

Maria willed herself to return the smile, edging away from Georg toward the door.

"Maria," he said again in a low voice. "You can stay."

She shook her head, not looking at him. "Good morning Baroness," she said, gesturing toward the room at large as she bowed out. "Please." She felt his gaze follow her to the door.

 _Please, let me go._

And when he did, it was both relief and agony.

* * *

She was at the Von Trapp villa a fortnight.

It was both too long, and not long enough.

There was awkwardness. There was longing. There was pain.

There was tension intense enough that Maria coped with it the only way she could – by keeping madly active from the moment she woke to when she fell into bed, exhausted.

In the mornings, Franz would take her to school along with the children. In the afternoons, she tried to take the bus, lingering unnecessarily in her classroom on the excuse of lesson planning.

When she _was_ at the villa, she led music lessons, looked over the children's homework, and came up with amusing little games to get the younger ones to clean up their messes.

She leaned what all the children's favourite foods were, sneaking new recipes into the mealtime rotation so effectively it took a mere five days for Frau Schmidt to begin consulting with her about the weekly meal plan.

She took charge of bedtime, reading books, gossiping with the older ones, singing lullabies to the younger ones, and once even falling asleep in Marta's bed after the young girl insisted that she cuddle with her.

If Maria was avoiding Georg with all her might, she only admitted it to herself in the minutes before drifting off to sleep, in the sense of relief and accompanying stab of loneliness to realize she'd made it through another day under his roof.

She avoided looking at him in the dining room, only to learn through staring at his plate that he liked his meat medium rare and always ate his vegetables first. She avoided him in the hallways, only to realize she knew exactly where he was expected at what time. She bowed out of every luncheon and soiree and gala Baroness Schraeder arranged so enthusiastically, even though she remembered each one of his acquaintances she met over the days. She avoided his study, avoided the parlour in the evenings, and, most of all, hurried past the ballroom every time she crossed the entrance hall.

The one night she heard the soft rap-tap-tap against her door, she buried her head under the covers and held her breath. Once, twice, thrice. The sound resounded in her sleep all night.

She couldn't think of him. And yet, couldn't stop thinking of him.

She awaited the news of her apartment anxiously, for she wasn't a fool – she knew she could never truly let go as long as she stayed at the Von Trapp villa. If anything, each passing day made it just a little bit harder, as though, by some misguided survival instinct, she was trying to cling on a little tighter.

* * *

Georg sat in the solarium, sipping a glass of pink lemonade that Max had pressed into his hands (though why on earth the man had requested lemonade in the stark middle of the blasted winter was a mystery to him). He watched the children play ball with Elsa (Elsa was a terrible shot, and the children, who were understandably high strung after another stormy morning indoors, were throwing the ball with unnecessary vigor), and wondered, for the hundredth time, where Maria had gone, and why she seemed so determined to run from them. Him.

He was torn between respecting her very clear signals for space, and the desperate need to learn why. What mystified Georg was that she did not seem angry at all. He knew too well what Maria was like when she was angry, with her firecracker attitude and impassioned entreaties. But Maria had been subdued, remote, _closed_ , since her arrival in his home.

 _Since the ballroom_.

When she appeared at dinner that evening, he could tell that something had shuttered behind her eyes. She had backed away from him. Seemed _repulsed_ by him, even.

And their early morning tryst in his study had been confusing, full of mixed signals, and frustrating as hell, in more ways than one.

Had he overwhelmed her? Frightened her? Overstepped the boundaries of propriety by such a careless degree even Maria, with her effervescent nature and passionate outlook, had found unacceptable?

Had she found that his lifestyle did not suit her at all, or worse, been completely disgusted by it's extravagance, it's pomp and circumstance? The company he kept?

The entire household had been running on Elsa's whim, and everything was grander, more luxurious, more excessive, than Georg's own laid-back tastes. The house saw a string of affluent visitors – neighbors some of whom Georg himself hadn't spoken to in years – and invitations to luncheons and parties poured into the villa at an unprecedented rate. Even quiet evenings became elaborate affairs, as Elsa and Max entertained guests, plying them with gossip and his best alcohol.

The children were bored to death around Elsa and her guests, and Maria was all but invisible. If she talked, it was with none of her usual wit or vigor, and that was if she was present at all.

He wasn't surprised when Maria politely but firmly declined her first gala invitation, or when she routinely excused herself from every gathering thereafter to spend time with the children. Georg could understand _that_. He only had to think of their walks and talks to balk at the thought of her pure, crystal-clear nature trying to engage his contemporaries, who spoke in circles behind wonderful gowns and carefully manicured facades.

But what baffled him what how she seemed to want to distance herself from him as much as she did her guests. He saw her only briefly these days, mostly from across the table when they were forced together at mealtimes. Her eyes flickered away from his whenever they met, her voice persistently bright as she deftly deflected any conversation away from herself. He resented the space between them, wishing he could be the one next to her, that he could hold her, that he could shake her and demand of her to tell him what was wrong, why she seemed to be slipping away from him like water through his fingers.

Georg thought that if he had to watch her retreating back one more time, he was going to break and run after her.

Admittedly, Elsa had, in her own way, endeavored to be a pleasant guest, unusually complimentary, girlishly delighted with the company, and even cordial with the children. But as the days passed and Maria grew even more distant, Georg found himself resenting the guests he had to appease, annoyed as Elsa sought to divert his attention yet again, and beginning to regret that he had ever agreed to any of this. He found himself counting down each pageantry filled day, to a time where he might have Maria to himself again.

There was so much he wanted to discuss with her. So much he wanted to ask her.

Georg watched the ball bounce out of Elsa's grip, and Brigitta go after it, sharing an eyeroll with Frederich as she turned away. The only sound to break the silence was Max's little huff of amusement across the table, while Georg frowned, restless and irritated.

As Brigitta retrieved the ball, he heard Kurt ask, "Baroness Schrader, could we stop now? We're tired…"

There was nothing rude in what he said. In fact, the children had been unusually agreeable the entire morning. They gathered around him, and Max poured them all lemonade. They did not look particularly unhappy, Georg thought – but why, then, did he feel such a sense of disquiet?

The answer to his question came in the form of a slender silhouette in the doorway. He watched the children light up and felt the heaviness life from the room. "Fraulein Maria, you're back!" Friedrich shouted, as the younger girls pulled her into the room.

They had been waiting for her.

In just two weeks, they had come to see her as a fixture in their home. They had embraced her as a part – if not the most important part – of their family.

Georg watched with a mixture of envy and longing as Maria responded to the eager crowd around her with unreserved affection, listening to her ask after Liesl's new crush, Kurt's breakfast, and little Gretl's bandaged finger.

 _He,_ too, had been waiting for her. He, too, knew with as much certainly as the children the place he wanted her to told in their lives.

But the more time that passed, the less he's sure she wanted to stay.

* * *

A/N: So evidently I'm bent on exploring everything I thought had the potential to be explored a little more thoroughly in the movie, including Maria's thoughts were she any less oblivious to the fact that she was madly attracted to CVT. And somewhere in there, given her humble beginnings, she MUST have been stupefied by some of the Von Trap extravagance?

Would love to hear your thoughts!


	14. Perhaps, Love

Look at this! A (relatively :P) quick, lengthy update! (Thanks in part to the TSOM forum, as parts of this are a loose rewrite of yet another SOM prompt from ages ago which I abandoned and have waited forever to use... extra bonus points if you can figure out which ;)

Chapter title inspired by the song by John Denver on the complexities and sometimes inexplicable draw of love. Also more homage paid to Anne.

* * *

Chapter 13 - Perhaps, Love 

He had missed it, the classroom on the second floor in the small Salzburg schoolhouse. He used to think of it as an oasis. But over the months, what began as an escape from everyday life eventually became his reality, and somewhere along the way, he discovered that the long lost idea of fulfillment was no longer just a mirage.

But as Georg stood in the doorway and glanced around the room, he once again had the impression the space had become an oasis, a sanctuary for the young woman seated at the teacher's desk. Her body was curled into the chair, and a cup of tea sat on the table. Instead of pouring over lesson plans as the children had led him to believe, her head was bent over a book.

Georg simply watched her for a moment. Maria was evidently engrossed in her book and lost to the world, absentmindedly biting her lower lip, side swept bangs falling into her eyes. He hadn't realized how tense she had been these past several weeks until he saw her now, relaxed and unencumbered, the very picture of solace.

The sight was riveting, and he stared, hungrily, almost loathe to alert her to his presence.

Was he doing the right thing by coming here?

When she paused in her reading to take a sip of tea, Georg cleared his throat, the sound deafening in the stillness of the room. Maria gasped, and jumped in her chair, sending the teacup rattling frantically around the saucer.

Her eyes grew huge as she spotted him, a faint flush staining her cheeks. She looked alarmed.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "I thought I might just find you here."

Maria stared as he moved into the room, and he suddenly found himself unsure of his welcome into her classroom.

It took her a moment too long to stand, and another moment to say a quiet, "hello."

He gestured that she should sit back down, and instead of looming over her, perched against the nearest student desk.

For a moment, neither spoke. Maria looked down at her hands, clasping them together – a move Georg knew was to keep them from fidgeting.

He reminded himself that the motive for today's visit was not to interrogate her.

"What are you reading?" He asked, lightly.

Maria held the book up so he could see the cover.

"Anne of Green Gables," he read out loud. "I've never heard of it."

She smiled, then. "You'd have to ask your daughter. Brigitta lent it to me. It's by a Canadian author – she has a pen pal in Nova Scotia who sent it to her."

Georg raised his eyebrow, taking a moment to examine the small, red-headed, freckled girl who graced the cover. He didn't know Brigitta was writing to someone across the ocean. But somehow, that Maria knew it and he did not no longer seemed to bother him. In fact, he imagined their heads bent together over a good book, curled up in the nursery, and felt his heart swell.

"Is it good?" He queried out loud.

Maria nodded. "I just started it yesterday – it's about a young orphan girl who is adopted by a lovely older couple, and becomes a schoolteacher."

"Oh?" Georg perked up. Perhaps not the part about being adopted by a lovely couple, but the rest sounded suspiciously familiar.

"Brigitta tells me she goes on to marry the love of her life, and has seven children."

Georg hid his shock behind a cough. "You don't say." He briefly wondered whether perceptive Brigitta had given her that particular choice on purpose. But Maria either had not made the connection, or was studiously ignoring it.

"It seems like she might have given away the entire story," he protested weakly.

"Oh no," Maria explained earnestly, her face lighting up. "The story is very much in the small everyday moments that make up most of life. My favourite bit so far was when _Anne_ spends an entire chapter talking about a carriage ride in the country side."

He smiled at the excitement in her voice, sounding much more like the Maria he had come to know. "I'd like to hear more."

Maria gawked at him. "You want me to read to you? _Out loud_?"

Georg chuckled. She misunderstood him, but her look of disbelief was delightful. "Is that something you reserve only for the children?"

Maria colored, looking uncertain. "Erm…"

"Never mind that for now," he said hastily, seeing the playfulness they had rediscovered was about to vanish again. "I came today to see if you could do me a favour."

She blinked, then smiled, recovering. "Only you, Georg, could make a request sound like a command."

He raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

"Well, most people asking for favours tend to frame it in the form of a question," she said in her best schoolteacher voice. "There's usually a 'please' involved. Perhaps some groveling," she finished mischievously.

Georg pretended to look affronted. "Groveling?"

"It might come to that," Maria said innocently.

He hid a smile. Perhaps she wouldn't know if for what it was, but he would be damned if it didn't sound like Maria was flirting with him. "Why don't you hear me out, and then you can let me know what specifics I need to curry your favour?"

Conceding, she nodded.

"I'd like you to come shopping with me."

Her mouth parted in shock. "What?"

"I was hoping you might be able to help me pick out a parasol."

"A parasol," she repeated blankly.

"Yes. For Marta."

"Oh!"

"I promised her one for her birthday."

"But you're…" He could see her mentally flipping through the children's birthdays, " – four months early!"

"Or eight months late, you could say," he countered. "I was absent during her last birthday, Maria. And I was thinking she could use it for the spring."

"Oh, I see…" Maria was quiet for a moment, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "I don't have very much experience in selecting parasols, I'm afraid," she said at last.

"More than an old man, I'm sure," Georg quipped, determined not to feel rebuffed. He had come expecting some resistance, he told himself.

"You're not old," Maria mumbled, then flushed.

His lips twitched in a smile, which quickly disappeared as she began, "couldn't Baroness Schraeder…"

"Baroness Schraeder?" He echoed, surprised. It gave him a strange, not-entirely-pleasant jolt to hear Elsa's name from her lips. He had come to the school hoping they could put aside the roles they perhaps both felt they had to play at the villa.

He replied patiently, "Elsa is leaving for Vienna at the end of the week, and she has a few appointments she had to keep in the meantime."

He didn't miss the way her eyes widened. "Leaving? But you…" Maria trailed off, looking away.

"In any case," he continued, "Elsa does not know my children. She wouldn't have a clue what Marta would like. You do." He tried a guess. "I'm willing to bet you can even tell me her favourite colour."

"Pink," Maria said promptly. "Just like me."

Georg waited, underscoring her answer with his silence.

She hesitated. Georg knew she would never waver when it came to the children. There must be some invisible boundary with _him_ she was reluctant to cross. He saw that she was still holding onto _Anne_. "You were telling me about those everyday moments… " he prompted quietly. "Could we make one?"

Maria gave him a small smile. "Okay," she said finally.

* * *

It felt strange to be walking into the department store with Georg at her side. She had tried to keep her distance over the past weeks, trying not to picture them doing much of anything together. She never imagined they would be _shopping_ , of all things – the very mundaneness of it was both preposterous and yet oddly intimate.

She hadn't expected him to come to the school – after all, there was enough going on at the villa with Baroness Schraeder and all the guests – and she _should_ have resented his invasion of the only space she had left to escape. But despite her surprise, she only felt a surge of familiarity at his presence, a sense of closeness they had built from within the very walls of this classroom that seemed unshakable despite all that had happened. And Georg had been unusually patient and gentle, playfully coaxing her along subtly enough she hadn't realized how much she was enjoying his company.

Maria wasn't naïve enough to think that Georg wasn't going out of his way to put her at ease, keeping the chatter light, maintaining a careful distance between them during the short car ride to the store. If he noticed her slight shiver when he helped her with her coat, or the way she had blushed when she brushed against him as he held open the door for her, he didn't show it. He stopped short of offering his arm, but she became aware of his hand frequently hovering near her back, as though he couldn't help but guide her.

He looked relaxed, and she could almost believe they were on yet another walk, confiding the most guarded parts of themselves to each other.

Was it only yesterday that Georg had attended a gala with Max and Baroness Schrader? Maria just happened to be walking along the upstairs corridor toward the nursery when she caught a glimpse of the others preparing to leave for the party in the grand entrance below.

Baroness Schraeder was wearing a deep red off-shoulder gown, the skirt fitted and accentuating an hourglass figure. _He_ was in a dark formal suit – perhaps the same one he had worn to the play. The thought had caused her throat to close, and she had turned deliberately away.

She _couldn't_ have gone shopping with _him_. The Georg in tails could be a stranger, especially when standing next to the statuesque Baroness Schraeder, but this Georg – this one with the probing, stormy blue eyes and low inquiring voice – she knew him. Knew the way he looked and the way he spoke and the way he thought.

And that, Maria thought to herself firmly, was all she would allow herself to know.

She led him to the accessories department, and together, they looked over the umbrellas. Maria pointed out a purple polka-dotted one, and he shook his head. Georg selected a pale red number with large posies, and she made a face. He then reached for a cream-coloured one, shirred and laced everywhere shirring and lacing could be added, plucking it off the shelf with a look of good-natured horror.

Maria smothered a giggle. "I bet it looks quite wonderful opened up," she told him, making her expression serious.

He took the handle and made a show of looking for the runner under all the ruffles, much as he would have done had it really been Marta looking on. Maria felt a sudden swell of emotion, of fondness mixed with something like pride at the wonderful father standing before her.

And then he was passing her the parasol – still unopened – and their fingers were touching, and her heart was beating furiously.

Maria flushed as she opened the umbrella, hiding behind it to buy herself time.

"Hmm," Georg murmured, evidently unaffected. "I do believe you're wrong. This is still a piece of work."

She took a breath, and gave herself a mental shake. She flourished the parasol in front of her, then above her head, playing along. "I don't know," she hedged, peering at him, "it's not so very bad."

"Hmm. Turn," Georg motioned her, making a circular motion with his hand.

She obliged, turning in a full circle to find him looking at her with an odd expression on his face. "Why do you stare at me so?"

He coughed, as if suddenly remembering he had to say something, and the brooding look on his face vanished. "Better put it back while you're ahead," he teased.

Maria set the umbrella back onto the shelf with a laugh and stepped back.

There was a moment of quiet while they both scanned the aisle, which masked the moment of uncertainty between them. "No pink ones," Maria said at last. Georg murmured his agreement.

"I have an idea," he said. "Why don't we order one from the catalog?"

Maria blinked, momentarily surprised Captain Von Trapp the aristocrat even knew what a catalog was. _But Georg, father to seven, apparently did._

"They're bound to have more choices," he continued. "We'll have it delivered to the villa."

"We?" Maria echoed.

"Of course. It'll be from both of us."

 _Both of us_. Maria had to suppress a sigh, reluctantly pushing aside the sudden imagery that sprang into her mind with his words.

As they made their way from the store, she slowed, as she always did, by the music department. She loved looking at the instruments on display, and her fingers skimmed longingly against the shelves of sheet music and records as she walked by. Today, her attention was drawn to the gramophone floor model at the end of the aisle. It was playing an old Austrian folk record, and she couldn't help but linger.

She stepped toward it, distracted by the lovely music.

"Hmm," Georg hummed in appreciation. She hadn't noticed that he had followed her.

She nodded. "To listen to it whenever you want…"

"We have several of these at home," he told her.

"Oh?" Maria glanced at him with interest. "I haven't seen any."

"Yes, you have." His voice dropped, but somehow acquired an intensity that made her heart quicken. "In the ballroom."

Maria suppressed a shiver. _The ballroom_.

They had drawn closer together in front of the gramophone without realizing it. Maria stammered, "I – I didn't notice."

His eyes shone. "I think you might have been distracted," he murmured back.

They were inches apart, the space between them charged. A loud yodeling which signaled the next song broke through the moment. Maria came to her senses with a nervous laugh, taking a step back.

"The Lonely Goatherd! One of my favourite songs!" Her voice was too loud. Too fast.

"The Lonely Goatherd?" Georg's voice was a little rough. He raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. I must remember to do a production of it with the students before the year is over." She paused. "With marionettes!" She added, suddenly inspired.

He chuckled. "I'd like to see that. I've never learned to yodel, myself."

"And you call yourself an Austrian?" Maria teased, glad for the change in topic, even as she tried to image the great Captain Von Trapp yodeling.

He looked affronted. "Are you questioning my pure Austrian blood?"

"At least I know how to yodel," Maria returned slyly. There was a time where she would have hesitated to bait the stern Captain, but now she knew his sense of humour. Knew it, and cherished it.

"Well, when I was a boy, I learned to play the lute."

"The Vienna Boys choir practiced a street down from where I used to live."

"Are you forgetting that I used to be commander in the Austro-Hungary navy?"

She knew that Georg knew he was losing when he brought up his formidable career. "Very admirable," she acquiesced, then added wickedly, "almost comparable to the time I ate five apple strudels in one sitting."

"Hmm." Georg frowned with concentration. "Agathe and I used to dance the Viennese waltz during the annual masquerade ball at the Hofburg palace. You can't get more Austrian than that."

"Once a year? I'll have you know that I used to put on my dirndl every day and dance the landler when I was Gretl's age."

"You know how to dance the landler?" Georg asked in surprise, distracted from their competition. "I didn't think anyone learned that anymore. It's fallen out of fashion."

Maria shrugged, smiling. "My mother and father loved folk music. We used to have grand dance parties at night," she told him, eyes shining with memory. Georg was examining the gramophone, his back to her, head bent over the speaker. "I learned the landler when I was a little girl."

Georg straightened, turning to her. "Show me?"

The smile slid from her lips. She gaped at him, as the soft chords of the familiar Austrian couples dance filled the air. Too late, she realized Georg had been examining the record and found the very song she'd been enthusing.

 _One two three, one two three_

 _Step together_

"Georg," she protested, voice hoarse. "I haven't danced it _since_ I was a little girl."

 _Step hop, step hop_

 _Turn under_

He stepped closer, eyes full of intention. "Oh Maria, you remember."

 _Step hop, step hop_

 _Turn under_

He held out a hand.

She stared at it.

She had escaped every party he had hosted at the villa, and now he had her, here, and they were going to dance the landler. She gulped.

"Forgive me," he murmured, eyes flickering to where she looked. "I didn't bring my gloves."

Maria didn't know that men were expected to wear gloves at a dance. But as she slipped her hand into his warm, calloused one, she understood why they would.

It was to prevent the electric tingle that shot through her body, a sensation she had no armor against.

It must have been to guard against the way he looked at her, the way he never took his eyes off hers, even as they sashayed across the middle of the department store aisle.

It would surely have thwarted the way her mind sighed, as he drew her to him and those hands encircled her waist. _Closer._

But she knew that even gloves couldn't keep the emotion smoldering in the depth of his blue eyes from leaving her breathless as they spun. Couldn't keep her from feeling that same emotion reflected in her own eyes, and knowing that he saw it.

They stilled, and she wondered for a moment whether they were about to pull away… or draw closer.

She pulled away.

"Georg," she whispered, shaking her head, mustering the last of her defenses, "we can't."

"Can't?" His voice was a low rumble. "Or won't?"

She shook her head, hopelessly trying to redirect them. "We're _friends._ "

"Yes, we are," he agreed. "Your friendship is very valuable to me. But _you_ know, Maria." Something in his voice made it impossible to look away, and he held her with his eyes. "I want your love."

She froze. He had said it. Against every moral convention, he had said it.

"Georg." She took a deep breath, half in disbelief it had come to this. "I can't – I don't want to be your – "

She couldn't say it.

His brow furrowed. "My what?"

Maria gulped, taking another big swallow of air. She stammered, her cheeks heating in mortification, " – your _mistress_."

* * *

Georg stared.

"My what?" He asked again, dumbfounded.

Maria trembled.

"No, don't," he said quickly, before she repeated the word that insulted them both. "I heard you."

He took a step back, blindsided, caught off guard by the certainly in her voice.

 _What on God's green earth had he done?_

"Maria," he began, agitated, then paused, trying to make his voice even. "Maria, how could you – " He felt his jaw clench. "I would never allow... I don't want you as – " He shook his head helplessly, unable to give word to a thought too grotesque to consider.

She frowned, peeking at him from under her lashes, as though both embarrassed and accusatory. "You just said you wanted me – " she fumbled.

He cut her off. "Yes, I did. And I do. I want you. I want you as my – oh, for God's sake – " Georg broke off again, running a hand through his hair in frustration. This was not the way he wanted to ask for her hand. He plowed on as she stared at him, wide-eyed. "I want you as my _wife_."

He heard her sharp intake of breath. "You want to m-marry me?" She asked plaintively, her face twisted in confusion. It was as far from jubilation as he could get.

His eyes softened. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"But – but Baroness Schraeder…"

"Elsa?" He frowned.

"Yes... aren't you – aren't you planning to be married?"

"Married?"

"Yes, Frau Schmidt – "

Georg let out a bark of incredulous laughter. "Is that what you thought the entire time? That I was going to marry Elsa Schraeder?" As he said it, the pieces of the past two weeks came together in a single, painful moment of clarity.

And instead of illumination, it sent his mind reeling. It was like being thrown into the deep end of a pool not knowing how to swim. Had he, over the past weeks, miscalculated by such a gross extent?

Georg saw the same floundering look in her eyes, and her voice was a half-gasp. "You're not?"

He shook his head firmly. "I knew a long time ago I couldn't marry her."

Maria mirrored his headshake, looking completely lost. "But she's a widow. A baroness," she wondered. "People line up to meet her, and by the end of the evening they're eating out of her hand. She hosts the grandest parties in Austria! She can manage a portfolio better than most men! And she's _beautiful_."

Georg grabbed her hands to stop her. "Maria, stop. _Stop_. Are you crazy?"

She stared back at him, eyes wild. "Everybody expects you to be married. Why _aren't_ you?"

"Because," he spoke very slowly, "you can't marry someone when you are in love with someone else. Can you?"

Maria stilled. Ever so slightly, he saw her head shake.

"And," he said, deliberately punctuating every word, "I am in love with you."

She fell silent. And he waited.

"But – " He watched as she struggled with her thoughts, as though she were determined not to believe him. "Did you know her?"

" _Know_ her?" He repeated, bewildered. "As in the biblical sense?"

Maria finally broke eye contact, blushing.

Georg frowned, studying her. It wasn't Maria's nature to be self-deprecating. And she wasn't being vindictive. He was starting to understand now, how she must have tortured herself in the past few weeks, negating her feelings, comparing herself to the woman she believed he loved. It overflowed now in a torrent of suppressed agony and despair. How had he let himself miss it for so long?

Gently, he took her hands in his. It was more a gesture of comfort than intimacy, and she didn't pull away. "Maria, before I met you I was a very different man. I was broken, and I _wanted_ to be left that way. I didn't want to be whole. I didn't want to be happy. I didn't want the responsibility of getting to know anyone, or bear the burden that it could all be taken away again. I was a coward."

Maria was frowning in protest. She knew why he had been who he was, and even now, she still felt the need to defend him from himself.

"Elsa found me at a time when I was self-destructing. She showed me a life where I could absolve myself of that responsibility. Where I could divide my body from my heart. Where I could find a way to move forward without moving on. She helped me when I didn't think anyone could."

"But – " her voice was a whisper, as if she didn't notice she was speaking. "She is extraordinary…"

"Maria, listen to me. I care about Elsa, but she is not extraordinary. She leads an extraordinary life. Her tastes are extravagant. Her gestures are grand. But that is not the kind of life I want."

He paused, and bent his head toward her, voice soft. "I want my house to be home. Not a stage. I want it to be filled with love. Not affectation. I want to go on bike rides. Have picnics. Climb mountains. I want to sing with the children in the evenings. And when they're in bed…" his eyes sparkled. "I want to spend that time with my wife."

Her lips parted, but her chin trembled. "I – I don't know if I can be… if I can give you…"

He shook his head to stop her. "You already have." Tenderly, he encircled her wrists with his hands. "Haven't you noticed? You've been managing the household since you arrived. The staff fall at your feet. You are mother to the children in all but name. As for me – you have given me more than you know. All I want, is to show you exactly what you've come to mean to me."

"But you – " She was struggling, unable to clear the thoughts that were haunting her. Her hands tightened around his. "You're an aristocrat. There – there are expectations…"

He returned the clasp, desperately wanting her to see. "I don't care to make an impression. I don't care to pander to expectations. You're right. I _am_ an aristocrat – I can't change that. There will be _some_ obligation, but it doesn't define what I do, who I want to be."

She was silent, biting her lower lip.

"Maria. I want to be the kind of man I am when I am with you."

Her eyes were huge as she looked at him, her face pale. "I – I never thought… never let myself think… that this could really be happening to me," she whispered at last.

He brought her fingers up to his lips. "It is. If you want it to."

They looked at each other. Before she could respond, a sharp voice cut through the silence like a military whistle.

"Fraulein Maria!"

Maria froze, and Georg straightened. His heart hammered against his ribs as though he had just completed morning drill. A tall and big-boned woman decked in a crisp brown suit wearing a giant feather in her hat was sailing toward them, the feather atop her head waving like a mast.

"I was hoping to catch you after school to discuss Erich's theory paper, but you never seem to be available anymore!" Her trilling voice scattered the remnants of the intimate moment between them. Georg felt a wave of anger at the disruption.

Maria forced a smile. "Mrs. Schneider…" she started.

"And, oh lord, Captain Von Trapp!" The woman gave him a look of exaggerated surprise, as if she had somehow missed his tall figure when she had interrupted them. He inclined his head politely, stern face unreadable. She looked shrewdly from one to the other. "What a lovely couple you make!"

Georg looked to Maria.

She took a step back. "Oh – no, we were just…" She began, confused.

He followed her cue. "Fraulein Maria asked that I help her select a few Austrian folk pieces," he said smoothly. "Next week's lessons."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Maria's eyes fly to his face. He glanced at her reassuringly, letting her know that he would give her as long as she needed.

"I see – how chivalrous of you!" The imposing vision chirped. "Fraulein Maria, you must share with us your secret one day to unlocking Captain Von Trapp's generosity!" Georg stiffened, and Maria blanched beside him. "Although I do see the draw – tucked all the way back here with a lovely young woman. Well, don't let me interrupt! I will drop by after school sometime next week… or will you and the Captain still be here… planning lessons?"

"Next week is fine," Maria said weakly.

Georg, who had bristled at the woman's intrusive, condescending behavior, said a barely civil farewell through gritted teeth. Maria watched Mrs. Schneider's back as she retreated back down the aisle, shoulders sagging as her body relaxed.

Looking at her, he felt a sudden pang, a mix of protectiveness, of anger, of painful understanding. All her life, Maria had been judged and looked down upon for what she lacked, and now, he was asking her to fill a substantial role that would take all her courage to define, defend, and make her own.

He could love her, could vow to cherish and protect her, but would he instead be subjecting her to a lifetime of scrutiny, of people talking behind her back, of having to prove herself, over and over and over again?


	15. Elsa Intervenes

Aren't I on a roll? ;)

I'm so sorry I haven't been responding to reviews - I have limited time each week for writing and I wanted to focus my energy on churning out these last few chapters (already?)

I'm quite excited for this chapter, because I've been wanting to 'flip' this SOM scene for ages, and have just been waiting for the right story! Also, I'm evidently better at setting up my characters for angst than getting them out... Eeek.

Would love to know what you think. Even though I haven't been responding, each review just completely lifts my day. xx

* * *

Chapter 14 - Elsa Intervenes

In the safety of her room, Maria allowed herself a moment's reprieve. She had agreed to join Georg – it was Max, really, who had insisted – and his guests for dinner, and had retreated to her room to change into something more appropriate. She paused for a moment with her forehead against the smooth wood of the large wardrobe, eyes squeezed shut, letting the vertical surface support her body whose weight suddenly felt incredibly heavy.

How could so much have happened in such a short amount of time? Maria never expected – and was not prepared – when she left for school this morning to find Georg at her door when the day ended. She never imagined they would find themselves shopping together, at a department store, of all places. And that they would be dancing the landler in the aisles, that they would once again, against all precaution, find themselves in each other's arms…

And never, in a million years, did she expect Georg to confess that it was _her_ he wanted all this time. It was _her_ that he wanted, loved, and hoped to marry. It had always been her, Maria Rainer. It had never been Baroness Schraeder.

Maria repeated these thoughts dazedly to herself, over and over, hardly believing it after all these weeks of torture. She was reluctant to believe it. She didn't even want to _think_ about it. It was all so overwhelming. It frightened her. It turned her life upside down.

If she accepted, she would be his. He could be hers.

If she accepted, they would be married; as man and wife, as Baron and Baroness Von Trapp.

Maria trembled. Why did that thought terrify her so?

She knew the answer. She couldn't possibly be Baroness Von Trapp. After weeks of seeing Georg and Elsa Schraeder together, she knew what would be expected of Baroness Von Trapp. His staff would expect it. His contemporaries would expect it. The world would expect it.

Maria remembered with a shiver the way Mrs. Schneider had interrupted them in the store. The cruel, cutting insinuating that she had seduced and bewitched Georg, from a friendly mother Maria had liked. Because no Baron in their right mind could want somebody like her, as anything more than a mistress.

Even Maria herself had come to believe it. Would Georg, one day, come to realize it too?

Neither of them spoke much on the car ride home.

Georg looked ahead, his face impassive. Maria stared out the window, watching the darkness settle around them, until it became too dark to see. Then she watched his hands on the steering wheel, smooth and steady. It was only then she noticed that he was gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

"That's something I would have to get used to, isn't it?" She thought out loud at one point.

He looked sideways at her. He didn't sound angry, nor did he sound particularly reassuring. He seemed drained. "I hope not, Maria." He didn't have to ask what she meant.

They fell silent again, each absorbed in their own thoughts. It could have been a happy moment. It could have been their beginning. Then why did it feel like there was a vice around her throat, an awful gnawing feeling in her stomach?

Maria and Georg were accosted in the entryway by Max immediately upon their arrival, along with a gentleman with black hair and an elaborate mustache. His stern features contrasted oddly with his flamboyant mannerism. A certain Mister Gorsky from Russia – Maria missed the explanation of how Max knew this man – was passing through the area with members of his famous ballet company. Georg looked mildly impressed, until he saw the twenty or so "select companions" gathered in his parlour with Baroness Schraeder, already formally attired in a mellow golden gown.

"Don't worry darling," Elsa reassured, seeing his face as she came through the door toward them, her skirts trailing behind her. "I know this is all very last minute." She looked pointedly at Max, who grinned sheepishly in return.

"The famous Bolshoi company! How could I say no!" He protested affably, holding up his hands to indicate he was absolved of all responsibility.

Elsa gave his splayed hand a playful swat, and turned back to Georg. "You needn't worry – I've arranged everything with Frau Schmidt and cook."

Georg looked resigned, and leaned toward Elsa as she gave him whispered introductions of the various guests. Maria, who had been ushered into the parlour along with Georg and introduced as 'Salzburg's fine teacher of the arts', saw an opportunity to bow out with everyone's attention diverted.

"Ahh," Max raised his eyebrows before she had taken even two steps back. "I thought you, Fraulein, in particular, would enjoy these guests. Surely you've heard of the Russian ballet company?"

Maria nodded reluctantly. She knew the name, but had never had much experience with ballet. On any other day, she _would_ have been interested, but she doubted she would enjoy anything today. She had too much to think about, and her heart was bursting.

"Come, you'll never know if you enjoy parties if you never attend one."

"Oh, really, I – "

"You can be _my_ dinner partner." Max's voice was raised and directed at Georg, still whispering with Elsa.

Georg straightened, looking from Max to Maria.

 _Lo and behold, you're someone's wife – and you belong to him_.

She hadn't given him an answer. Didn't _have_ an answer.

Would he insist that she stay?

He held her gaze for a moment. "You can if you want, Maria." His voice was quiet, gentle even, and it demanded nothing. But there was a flicker of something in the depth of his eyes that made her heart clench. Suddenly, she was tired of saying no. Realized she didn't want to say no to him. Didn't want to say no to herself.

His gaze changed, becoming softer as he watched the conflict play out across her face.

Maria nodded, and Max smiled jubilantly. He waved down the hall to one of the staff. "Set another place next to mine for Fraulein Maria!" He called, and they saw her nod accordingly.

Maria smoothed her hands over the skirt of the dress she had gone to school in. "I'm not suitably dressed."

"Not at all Fraulein – " Max started, waving his hands.

Georg cut in firmly, acknowledging her concerns. "You can change. We'll wait for you." _I'll wait for you_.

And so Maria found herself in her room, staring at the dresses in her closet. They were still the ones she had made from the material Georg had given her, when she had been happily oblivious to the fact that one day, she might have to wear one of them to attend dinner with a world famous ballet director in his mansion.

She didn't own a single item that held a candle to what Baroness Schraeder wore on a regular basis – the daring cuts and bold colours and feminine accents.

Maria shook her head, and was unbuttoning her dress when a sharp knock on her door gave her pause.

It could only be Georg. But would she find what he had to say reassuring, or unsettling? "Come in," she called, quickly throwing a shawl over her shoulders.

The door opened. Maria was momentarily stunned to find it was not Georg, but Baroness Schraeder standing in her doorway. The bright light of the hallway soaked into her sleek, sparkling gown.

"I thought you could use some help getting ready," the Baroness offered. Her words had the sort of rounded quality meant for intimacy, like she was telling a secret to somebody familiar. Elsa Schraeder had certainly been cordial toward her during her stay, but had never gone out of her way to pay her any attention. Maria could only stare. Baroness Schraeder let herself into the room, her dress rustling as she walked, and shut the door behind her.

"Oh!" Maria said vaguely, trying to master her flustered look as the Baroness looked her over, imperious and hard to read as ever. "It's really very kind of you to offer to help me, Baroness." She slid her own dress past her waist, hiding her hands in the skirt to keep them from shaking as Elsa Schraeder opened her closet door. "I really don't think I have anything that would be appropriate," she remarked.

"You have a closet full of pretty things," the Baroness said, peering into the wardrobe.

"Yes, Georg selected the materials," Maria said without thinking, then blushed as the Baroness's hand paused midway into the closet. It was something a lover would have done.

Maria bit her lip as Baroness Schraeder pulled a hanger seemingly at random. "This is a lovely little thing." She held up a light blue dress as she moved toward her.

"I don't think – "

"Maria." Baroness Schraeder laid the dress on the bed and turned to her at last, her voice light. "You could be wearing a rag, and Georg would not be able to keep his eyes off you."

Maria froze. "What do you mean?"

Elsa frowned, and Maria felt the full force of her gaze. "Come, my dear, we can speak as women. Let's not pretend we don't know that Georg is in love with you."

"How – how did you…"

"I have eyes, Maria." Her voice was conversational, but Maria thought she could detect a hint of exasperation, and perhaps of amusement. "And ears. And I have known Georg much longer than you have. I was very fond of him – and he of me." Elsa's eyes glittered. "But I do believe now that Georg had never noticed a woman since his wife's death until he met you."

"Baroness, I do hope you're joking…"

The other woman shook her head slowly. "Not at all." The almost reluctant way in which she said it gave Maria pause, as though she had looked, had noticed, had understood, against her will.

He didn't love her – Georg had admitted as much. But… Maria felt herself gasping silently, had she loved him?

"Haven't you noticed the way he looks at you? The way he can hardly keep his eyes off you when you're in the room – not to mention after you leave it he's hardly able to utter a word because all he's doing is thinking about you." The Baroness looked as though she was trying not to roll her eyes. "You must have noticed the way he goes quiet the moment you start speaking, as though you're saying something he's longed to hear all his life? The way he can't help but lean toward you, the way his whole body reaches for you?"

Maria was shaking her head. She found herself overwhelmed by the casualness in Elsa's throaty voice, in direct contrast to her impassioned observations. She caught herself wondering whether the Baroness had trained herself not to overreact in moments such as these.

"But perhaps, my dear, you don't know Georg the way I do." Maria's eyes flashed to hers, and for a moment, she was afraid of what the other woman would reveal. "In all his time in Vienna… in all my glittering salons, gossiping with friends whom he detested, soaking himself in champagne, stumbling about to waltzes he could never remember… I have never seen him happy. Aloof. Cynical. Evasive. Sometimes violent." Elsa pressed her lips together, showing the first raw flicker of emotion Maria had seen. "It's what made him… fascinating. Romantic."

Maria thought back to when she first met him. He had been all of those things. Could she have fallen for someone like that? Had Baroness Schraeder?

"But fond as I am of him…" Elsa shook his head and shrugged elegantly, and Maria knew then and there that she would never learn. Nobody would ever know if the glamorous widow before her had her heart broken by the man who fell in love with a country school-teacher, or if she had been equally unaffected. "It's no use. He and I. To continue would be dishonest to both of us, and utterly unfair to me. I see him here, in his natural habitat– and he is happy. He is alive. This is where he belongs. This is the life he is meant to live. With _you_." Elsa looked at her – _truly_ looked at her, not with the gaze that pinned those on the receiving end, but a glance that was open, inviting, and a little bit curious.

Maria took a deep breath, wanting to respond to the good faith she had detected. "I – I'm not sure I make a very good Baroness…"

"My dear, there is nothing you can't do." Elsa's voice was firm and decisive. "I was in a situation not unlike yours, once. Young, daring, stubborn as ever. I never imagined I would – _could_ – marry a man with the status and wealth that I did. And – " Elsa paused, "they were the happiest twenty years I've had."

Maria smiled. The Baroness's words were not meant to be particularly reassuring, she knew, but rather, it was the simple way she said them which made them genuine. "That sounds lovely."

The corners of Baroness Schraeder's eyes crinkled briefly, as she moved away from the bed toward the door. Like a true businesswoman, she had come to say what she needed to say, and she did so graciously, whether she found it palatable or not. But she paused at the door and looked back at Maria. "I was lucky to find a man who loved me as he did. But what makes it nicer…" she said softly, her voice slightly wistful, "is when you let yourself love him, too."

She paused as she saw Maria hesitate with a response, and continued despite – or perhaps because of – her silence. "Georg is not like most men. He's been through enough." Her eyes flickered away briefly, before returning to meet Maria's gaze in a way that was both determined and imploring. "Don't take this away from him. He won't get over it."

 _He won't get over it._

Her voice rang in Maria's head as she sat through dinner, watching Georg joke and laugh with the children. (As it transpired, Mister Gorsky was a jolly companion and happy to join in the family fun.) Baroness Schraeder sat on his right hand side, gay and glamorous, adding her own tinkling laugh to the mix. Every so often, her eyes swept down the table to catch Maria's, as though to say conspiratorially, _don't mention a word of it to Georg._

Georg himself also looked at her often, his eyes crinkled, his gaze warm and open, as though he'd decided to give all he had without expecting anything in return. And Maria found herself responding, smiling, leaning toward him.

She wanted his love. If she were honest, she'd wanted that love for a long time.

* * *

The next morning, Maria freshened up for the day, thinking that she wanted to catch Georg in his study before the rest of the household awoke. She knew they were both early risers.

She smiled to herself. How different things seemed now than the first time she was asked to meet him there! Then, she felt as though her world was going to end.

And now, she felt like it was just beginning.

There was a bounce to her step as she made her way downstairs, and down the long corridor that led to his study.

And just like the first time, Maria heard Franz's staccato steps, and saw the stern Von Trapp butler materialize in front of her. Only this time he wasn't coming for her. He was merely crossing the hallway from one room to another. He nodded a greeting, warmer than he'd been when they'd first met.

"Early morning to you, Fraulein." He offered a thin smile, slowing his steps to match hers.

"Good morning Franz," Maria beamed. This morning, she loved the world. "I'm just looking for Georg…"

The butler made a full stop, forcing Maria to turn back to look at him. "The Captain is not available this morning."

Maria smiled. "And he tells me he never sleeps in!"

"The Captain is with the Baroness," Franz informed her.

Maria frowned. "Where?"

Franz blinked, forehead wrinkling, as though her question had confused him. "In her rooms, of course."

And just like that, the world came to a standstill.

* * *

Georg ran a tired hand through mussed hair, watching the morning break over the mountains. The guest suite windows faced westward, and he could only guess by the degree of pinks and oranges in the sky how long it would be until sunrise.

When daylight finally streamed through the windows, Georg turned. Elsa was still asleep on the big bed, covers pulled up to her chin. Stripped of her makeup and daily trips to the hair salon, she looked much younger. Vulnerable. Fragile, even. Her hair, so light it was almost white, had lost most of its gloss, and he could make out her too-small frame under the covers. But he could see that her breathing was even and there was even some colour on her hollow cheeks. He exhaled, allowing himself to believe she was getting better.

How many mornings had he spent here? At least a week. Georg took a mental inventory of each day, frustrated that they all seemed to melt into each other in a blur of panicked activity and frantic waiting; the nights of fitful sleep, punctuated by grim dreams and even grimmer ruminations, usually finding him exhausted in his study by morning; rushing to Elsa Schraeder's room before she woke up to find him gone; spending the day by her bedside, alternatively cajoling her into calmness or pacing like a restless tiger at the foot of her bed while she drifted off.

Franz shepherded the harassed and worried doctor to and from the room multiple times a day. The two nurses assigned to her rushed about the room with unnerving urgency, overseen by a grim Frau Schmidt. Max hovered nervously on the periphery, and Georg did not envy him the task of warding off unwanted and nosy visitors. The children were silent, specters in their own house, keeping out of the way as Frau Schmidt had instructed. And Maria… she had left. Had returned to her apartment, Max had told him.

Georg couldn't blame her. He had left her at the climax of their exchange, both standing dangerously at the precipice. That first day when all hell broke loose, he hadn't had time to explain.

He knew Max had. He'd caught her at the school and let her know what was happening at the villa. He had passed her prayers for the Baroness on to Georg, and the following day, the children came home with a basketful of handmade cards they had put together for the Baroness, and Liesl also handed him a note.

 _My favourite part._

" _Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one's life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one's side like an old friend… perhaps love unfolded naturally, out of a beautiful friend…"_

 _\- Anne Shirley_

His spirits lifted. Had Maria, in the time and space they'd been apart, come to realize she loved him? He needed to hear it from her lips.

Georg sighed. But Elsa had been, and was still, so ill.

Georg thought back to that evening, where so much had occurred between him and Maria that afternoon, and he felt exhausted as he prepared for bed after the Russian ballet director and his company had finally taken leave. He was already in his dressing gown when a timid but persistent knocking drew him to the door.

It was one of the house staff, her brown eyes blown wide in panic, voice shaking breathlessly.

One of the maids had caught Baroness Schraeder trying to jump out the window of her second story guest suite.

The report had been so absurd that Georg had refused to be perturbed. But nonetheless, he accompanied the distraught staff to the guest suite, where he'd found a wild-eyed and straining Elsa held in check by Franz and two of his maids. She looked at him, unseeingly, struggling against her restraints.

Elsa Schraeder was completely delirious.

Georg sent for the doctor at once, who after a brief examination by her bedside, diagnosed her with fluid of the kidneys causing infection. _Sepsis._

He knew the word. Blood poisoning, it had once been called. It was what took his men from him for a small cut on the leg, a slight cough, a broken tooth. It was when infection stole into the blood and ravaged every organ it came across. It caused death in a matter of days.

Georg could not imagine how such a glamorous and vibrant woman could be gone in a matter of days. He could not let Elsa Schraeder die, not under his watch.

The doctor set up an intravenous, and left medication to be dosed on the hour. But it was as though her body knew her time was coming to an end, and was determined to use up every last bit of energy. She fought them all. She screamed. Twice in the night he had to physically restrain her from hurting herself. Finally, they'd had to tie her limbs to the bedposts.

When she finally stopped fighting, Georg could have fallen to his knees with relief. But it was short lived. When Elsa woke next, she developed a complication no one had foreseen. In her delirium, she believed Georg to be her deceased husband. Psychosis, the doctor said, and pushed more fluids. Georg couldn't leave her sight or she became distraught, and even when she dozed, seemed to know exactly when he left the room, becoming agitated even in sleep. The doctor added several more medications to settle the mind. The hours wore on. Georg responded to a name that was not his. Faked understanding when she talked of a life he knew nothing about. Calmed her by holding her hands, kissing her forehead, and – as he learned through sheer fluke – addressing her by an odd term of endearment. Cinnamon.

The doctor became more optimistic toward the end of the week. Her vitals were stable. The fever receded. Her thinking became almost clear, by turn.

Georg, feeling cautiously relieved, took to reading by her bedside while she slept.

The day that Elsa was able to sit up in bed and have lunch fed to her by one of the staff, Georg retreated briefly to his study. Sitting at his desk, pen in hand, he pulled a book toward him. Anne of Green Gables.

 _This is mine._

"" _That's it, isn't it?" She said, pointing._

 _Matthew slapped the reins on the sorrel's back delightedly._

" _Well now, you've guessed it! But I reckon Mrs. Spencer described it so you could tell."_

" _No, she didn't – really she didn't. All she said might just as well have been about most of those other places. I haven't any real idea what it looked like. But just as soon as I saw it I felt it was home. Oh, it seems as if I must be in a dream. Do you know, my arm must be black and blue from the elbow up, for I've pinched myself so many times today. Every little while a horrible sickening feeling would come over me and I'd be so afraid it was all a dream. Then I'd pinch myself to see if it was real – until suddenly I remembered that even supposing it was only a dream I'd better go on dreaming as long as I could, so I stopped pinching._

 _But it_ is _real. And we're nearly home."_

Even though attending to Elsa was his immediate focus, Maria was never far from his mind. As Elsa took steady steps toward recovery, Georg prepared to leave the villa for the first time in days. He needed to see her.

As he sat at his desk, allowing himself a moment of quiet – Elsa had finally and definitively recognized him for who he was – Max walked in without so much as a knock.

Georg stared. The expression on his old friend's face was so uncharacteristic it took him a moment to place. Was it… distress? Fear? He couldn't be sure.

"Elsa?" He asked.

Max walked toward the desk, and Georg felt a trifle of alarm. There was something in solemn in the way he looked – something like sadness, or resignation – that seemed to age him twenty years, and yet he seemed as lost as a boy.

"Georg." The moment Max paused in front of him, he felt his stomach drop. Like he had been given one of those injections that stop the heart.

Max hesitated for only a second. "Georg, Maria has been dismissed."


	16. The Last Time

Thank you all so much for your patient waiting!

Tell the truth, this 'ending' was one of the first scenes I drafted after this story expanded from it's original meet-cute. But since then, the story, and M/G's relationship, has HUGELY evolved, and when I got to this chapter, I spent an inordinate amount of time testing whether this ending still had to happen this way. And it does, I think (but I MIGHT still be trying to convince myself?) - and I think you'll be able to see why I struggled so much with it.

And without further ado...

* * *

Chapter 15

The Last Time

How do you solve a problem like Maria?

 _They fired her._

It felt like an assault. An attack on her, that rippled straight to him. And Georg's first response was to close his eyes.

The instinct was left over from his navy days. Regardless of whether he was attacking or retreating, the moment everything was over, Georg closed his eyes in temporary reprieve. It was the only moment he had. It was the only solace he could afford. If he had been a religious man, he might have prayed. Because in the next moment, he would be bombarded with updates from men and ships all around him, and he would have no choice but to know. What damage had been incurred? How many had died? Had they come through unscathed, or were they barely holding together?

And always. Always. Was it worth the cost?

There were no torpedoes this time. No explosions. No loss of life. But as Georg sat at his desk, watching Max's ashen face and shaking fingers as he poured himself a brandy, he felt the same impending calamity, and the instinctive, _childish_ desire not to know.

He had listened numbly, in shock and disbelief, as Max fumbled through his story. The words had seemed oddly disjointed, blurring together as though his friend had had too much to drink. Or perhaps Max had been entirely coherent, and his mind was simply refusing to process the story.

Max paused, and it became clear he was waiting for a response.

Georg forced a lungful of air. "Could you… say that again?"

This time, he tried to focus. Tried to pull the key details.

Yesterday evening, the board had convened for a hastily called meeting. An incident in the morning had prompted calls from parents for Fraulein Maria's immediate removal. A student from one of the younger classes had tumbled from a tree, and sprained his ankle.

Georg frowned. Max interjected before he could ask. The accident did not happen during school hours, or even on school grounds.

And yet, they blamed her. Maria had recently assigned a project studying birdsong, and apparently the youngster fell climbing a tree to look into a nest. In the decision to let her go, Max was the only one to vote against.

Georg did not want to hear any more. He could not put the two and two together, but even in his daze, he knew it was because they didn't _go_ together. Accidents and injuries happened all the time – his own son had done this very thing years ago, during school recess, which resulted in nothing but a light chastisement to be careful for Friedrich. It was incomprehensible to place the blame onto a teacher. He should have felt outraged on her behalf. But Georg closed his eyes and felt nothing but a sense of dread.

He couldn't shake the sense that the accident had been irrelevant. This was not justice. It was retaliation.

"That's not the reason the board fired her," he said out loud, testing the thought.

Max shook his head slowly. "Of course not."

Georg allowed himself another moment of escape, letting the darkness behind his eyelids envelop him.

"I could demand she be reinstated," he said. The words were flat with denial.

The other man looked at him sadly. "You could."

The board would agree – it would be grudging, but they would do it to please him. They wouldn't dare offend one of their wealthiest patrons. But she would refuse. How could she bear the thought of returning to a place that wanted her gone, to work with people who despised her, when all she had done was give her job all that she had? She would resent him for even thinking it.

He swallowed. Time was up.

"Why? Why are they so eager to discredit her? Did they say anything?"

Max gave a bark of angry laughter and took a gulp of brandy. The ice cubes in his tumbler rattled in agitation. When he finally looked at Georg, his face sympathetic. " _Say anything_? Oh, they said plenty. It took the whole evening, beating around the bush and circumventing the actual words; she's not fit to teach. And this incident only confirms she is a possible danger to the students."

" _Not fit to teach?"_ Georg repeated blankly. His mind jumped from his first meeting with her – her inventive exercise in teaching algebra using music – straight through to the opening night of the play. Did the others not see what he had? Did they not notice how inspired the students had been, how hard they'd worked, how they'd come alive under her tutelage and guidance? Did they not understand how much of herself Maria poured into her work?

Max too, seemed to be remembering that day. His face was drawn, and he had set down his tumbler. It sat on the end table beside him, still bearing traces of fingerprints. "Things have been getting worse since the holiday break," he said finally. "I've never seen anything like it."

The comment gave Georg pause. Max had had the board eating out of his hand since the year started – half had been old conservative men who appreciated his aristocratic background, and the other half newer, younger members eager to please. The only issues he could never seem to win were over the extraordinary young teacher he'd hired.

"I tried, Georg," Max started wearily, as if on cue. "I fought for her." He shrugged helplessly. "You know I'm not a political man." Georg almost snorted. If _that_ wasn't the understatement of the century. Not only did Max have no party convictions whatsoever these days and was unabashedly proud of it, he seemed to dance to a tune of his own. He befriended all with a fluid moral standard, and swore allegiance in a pattern nobody could predict. The only thing Georg had ever been sure of was that Max was fiercely loyal to those he liked. If he said he fought for her, Georg believed him.

"You think this has something to do with politics?" He wondered out loud, frowning.

Max looked tired. "No, it doesn't. This, Georg, is the oldest trick in the book."

Georg furrowed his eyebrows, not comprehending.

"They're questioning her values. Her morality. They're saying she's sinful. Manipulative. Teaching the ways of Satan. Come on!" Max's frustration erupted in an uncharacteristic expletive. "The way they make it sound, you'd be expecting to see a bevvy of little devils." The anger drained as he saw Georg staring at him, his frozen expression a mix of fury and disgust. "They say she's using the students."

Max paused again, reluctant, and cleared his throat. "I believe the tipping point was that little run in you had… with Erich's mother."

"Who…?" Georg had listened with a sense of outrage and trepidation, as though he was cowing not from what he was hearing, but from what he hadn't yet heard. And now his mind struggled to catch up with what Max was telling him. Finally, his memory pinged. Erich Schneider. The boy in Liesl's class. The mother who wanted to discuss her son's theory paper, who had interrupted him and Maria in the department store music aisle.

And then something Max had said months ago surfaced to memory, like an incoming missile seeking it's target.

 _Whatever you do with her, be careful, Georg. She's on thin ice. And it only takes one self-righteous person who feels jilted or betrayed to crack it and she'll fall right through._

 _And it's certainly not your virtue I'm worried about._

From far away, he heard Max's voice. "What everybody is saying and nobody is saying out loud, is that Maria came to teach and instead stole the brightest jewel of all. You."

And then Georg felt the ground tremble as his world exploded, and knew that this time, the casualties could never be worth it.

* * *

Georg didn't think he could be more distraught than he had been the first time he stood in front of Maria's apartment door, when she'd been on the brink of hypothermia even as he struggled to grasp what she meant to him. The memory of that sense of urgency and fear seemed a pale shadow compared to how he felt now.

He didn't recall finishing the conversation with Max, or how he had gotten out of the office. He seemed to remember Max shouting at him. A refrain, _Georg, it's late_.

Had it been advice? A suggestion? A caution?

Georg shook his head. He had gotten into his car, thinking of nothing but the need to reach her. The need to see her, speak to her, hold her. The need to make things right. The need to show her he could be enough, to hell with everybody else.

But perhaps he had been spurred, most of all, by the need to escape, to run from a painful truth his mind wouldn't even consider: _this time, he couldn't rescue her._

As he stood in the silent hallway, with chipping paint around him and peeling floorboards underneath, he stared at her door and suddenly wished he had done it differently. The first time they stood here, having inadvertently stumbled upon their desire for one another, he should have claimed her. Should have given in to temptation and marked her with everything he had.

Should have thrown moral convention to the winds and made Maria his.

For if he had, she would still be his.

Maria didn't respond to his knock, but he'd half expected it. Tentatively, he tried the handle, and found it unlocked. It was as though it was no longer hers.

Georg stood on the threshold, looking around the small apartment, and understood he'd been wrong. Max had not said, _it's late_. Max had said, _it's too late._ He hadn't been talking about the hour, after all. It wasn't a warning. It was a premonition.

The feeling he'd felt the first time he'd been here, had been panic with the knowledge that action was possible. He could start the bath. He could get her warm enough. He could hide his emotions, even run from them if he had to. But what he felt now was panic with the helplessness of being able to do nothing.

He'd needn't have rushed all the way here from Aigen, driving like a maniac pursued by death himself. For there was nothing to be done now which required urgency. The knowledge should have broken him on the spot, and he did not know why it did not. He could only guess that the Georg under Maria's influence now thought of others before himself, and perhaps, it was also what would save him.

His eyes wandered the room. Maria's apartment was in disarray. The furniture had been rearranged and pushed aside. Boxes were scattered across the floor, interspersed with piles of personal items thrown carelessly together. The trash bin overflowed.

Near the kitchen was the largest pile of all, a small mountain of haphazardly packed and overflowing boxes. Georg recognized with a painful leap of his heart the keyboard that always sat at the back of her classroom. He saw rolls of posters with slivers of fields and mountains as the edges threatened to escape their elastics. A box of instruments. A stack of books. Bit and pieces of a classroom that had become so achingly familiar to him.

He stood, stunned by the overwhelming sadness at seeing the scattered remnants of her classroom. She'd had to dismantle it alone. It told him, more than anything else, that she had made her decision.

She was leaving.

A soft shuffling drew his eyes from the carcass of a beloved sanctuary toward the short hallway. Maria appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. In contrast to the mess around her, she looked unnaturally calm. The starched white shift she wore, too large for her small frame, made her seem both frail and severe. Her eyes were huge and luminous against her pale face. She looked wary. _Weary_. "Georg." Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried in the silence of the room.

He felt his heart soar, the same moment he felt it plummet. He both wanted to take her in his arms, and fall at her feet. He felt her name on his lips like a choked prayer.

Seeing her was an unbearable reprieve, one he would pay for later. And suddenly, he wanted to be angry. At the entirety of Salzburg, for chasing her away. At her, for leaving. At himself, for not having what she needed to stay. But he had no emotion left for anger.

She came forward until she reached the small kitchen table, stopping on the other side like she needed a barrier between them. As thought, after months of giving and holding back nothing, she'd decided she needed to protect herself. He clenched his teeth to stop from reaching for her, to stop from making this harder for the both of them. God only knows that instead of protecting her, he had made this moment possible.

He took a breath, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "You're… packing." He couldn't bring himself to say _leaving_.

Maria nodded. "Now that I'm not working…" she shrugged, her small hands waving toward the room to finish the sentence.

The accusations had cost her a job, and her home. It had cost her dignity, her trust in others. But he knew it was even more than that. It had cost her livelihood. Her freedom. Her dream.

 _Was what they had worth that cost?_

He remembered her hesitation even as he asked for her hand. Even as he declared he loved her. Even as she must have known he knew - knew that she loved him.

 _That's something I would have to get used to, isn't it?_

Perhaps he was the more experienced of them, but she had seen this coming before he did.

Georg swallowed. "Were you going to say goodbye?"

Maria looked away, miserable. "I'm sorry, Georg. I – I couldn't… not even to…"

" – the children," he finished sadly.

And how could he blame her? How could _he_ even begin to explain any of this to the children?

She looked at him then, her eyes tortured. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

He exhaled, eyes closing briefly. "It shouldn't have to happen like this."

When he opened them, she was shaking her head helplessly. "Were they right? I came here to _teach_. To have asked for your love would have been…" She shrugged, unable to say it.

"Maria, love is _never_ wrong," he said, more forcefully than he intended, but his next words were a whisper. "You taught me that."

"I did?" There was a certain glimmer in her eyes as she looked at him, then looked down. Hopeful. Bashful. "You were the first…"

Georg inhaled. He could have made so much out of that look, this moment. He could have shown her many more firsts. Instead, it would be someone else. He would be a fool to think that he would be her only. And how long would he live, pining after her?

He reached across the small table, his fingers brushing her cheek, the lightest trace along the first colour he'd seen today. It was enough to make her look up at him.

There was a softness in the way they looked at each other, a forgiveness, had there been anything to forgive. And they tried, anyway.

"I should have been here for you when it happened," he said, voice thick. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Max told me how sick Baroness Schraeder was. I was afraid for her, too." She hesitated. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have doubted you. I – I ran into Franz that morning, and oh, I was such a fool. Forgive me, for thinking what I did."

Georg could only nod wordlessly, the injury of that moment a distant memory. If only that was all there was between them. If only it that could be swept aside, just like that.

Wondering if he might fall apart – there would be plenty of time for that later – he looked away, casting his glance around the forlorn space. He noticed the pile of papers on the table between them, and saw an envelop with a familiar stamp. His own.

The letter was unopened. Forgotten, he imagined, in the turmoil of recent events.

 _We're nearly home._ He thought of the quote he'd sent, of the hope voiced by a whimsical, loving eleven-year old of _Green Gables_ that had so reminded him of her. And now, it would never be home.

He tried not to think of her in his home. He did not want to think of her flying through her days, chatting brightly with all the staff, pulling weeds from the garden whilst teasing the gardener, gently chastising the children with that impish smile on her face. Did not want to dwell on how she'd felt like the missing piece to their family, how the villa had become a home when she'd be a part of it. Not to mention the dreams he'd had, of her, in his home. Of the two of them, together.

Should he have heeded Max's advice? Steered clear of her and let her flourish on her own? To deny what he'd felt for her, to omit the walks and talks that became the highlight of his day, to never have known those stolen moments when he'd allowed himself to treasure and cherish her, to want her, to have her want _him._ An exhale shuddered through him. Nothing could convince him that would have been the right thing to do.

But then, he had brushed off Max's warning of nosy board members and jealous wives and widows without giving it a second thought. After serving two wars and having witness immeasurably loss, after having lost his own wife to death, his children and even himself to grief, Georg had grown immune to it all. There was nothing they could take from him.

But Maria – she had worked her whole life toward this moment, her passion keeping her afloat through her miserable childhood and youth. She could stand to lose. Her dreams. Her sense of wonder. Her potential. Everything. She had come to Salzburg, armed with ambition and hopes and good intentions, with something to prove to herself and the world, only to have that bright light snuffed out by petty housewives and stuffy old men.

How could she stay, when everything she held dear had been ransacked and tarnished? How could she believe in trust, in love, when it had been the tool that had betrayed her?

How long would it take her to find it again? Where would she be?

Perhaps it was a cruel joke, the timing of their meeting. She'd walked into his life just in time to reignite his, while he'd walked into hers only to darken it.

"I wish we had more time." It was all he could say.

She blinked. "Me too."

He paused. "Where will you go?"

She gave a slight shrug, a mere sigh of her shoulders. "I'm not sure yet."

Perhaps it was better that he didn't know.

Georg swallowed, knowing their time together was drawing to a close. He reached into his coat, and took out his wallet. He had filled its contents from the safe in his bedroom after he left the office, knowing deep down that ultimately, it would come to this.

He walked around the table until he was standing next to her – because God help him if he was going to say goodbye to the woman he loved from across a room with the sterile awkwardness of an illicit encounter. "I want to give you this."

"Money?" Maria looked taken aback by the crisp notes in his hand. "Georg, I don't need this from you."

"It's not charity," he explained quickly, before she could protest any further. "This is a business transaction."

When Maria looked perplexed, eyebrows drawing together, Georg continued. "Maria, you have helped my children and helped our family in ways I could never have imagined. You've done more than any teacher or a hundred governesses together." He found it difficult to keep going. "This is not the deal I wanted to make. _You_ know. But even though the terms have changed, I want you to know that the impact you've had remains the same."

"Please," he added softly, when Maria remained frozen.

Slowly, she reached across the space between them with shaking fingers.

She gave a cursory glance at the bills in her hand, before shaking her head, trying to hand it back. "This is too much, Georg."

"No Maria." He gripped her wrists lightly with his fingers. "You earned it. You can be free of your uncle, of the debts you should never have had to bear. You can start from the beginning. Anywhere you want. For all you have done for me, let me give you that."

He saw her blink rapidly, her eyes overly bright. She let him wrap his hands around hers, curling her fingers around the money.

He brushed his thumb across her knuckles, and it was handshake, kiss, and farewell.

And then he let her go.

* * *

A/N: OUCH. SORRY! Oh Golly, that was much more painful than I thought it would be...

But luckily, it's not QUITE the end. Still a little bit more to come. Thank you all for reading. xx


	17. A New Beginning

A/N on the last chapter: Before I present the next instalment, I just want to clarify why I thought it was necessary that G and M let each other go. I do believe that love is all about WHEN it happens, and sometimes, one partner is not in the right place and it's just not meant to be. I sort of designed the premise of this story around this concept. When G and M first meet, they both have a past and an awful lot of baggage, so to speak, and they're each fighting their own battles. The same way that G would never have been able to realize his love for M if he hadn't accepted and worked through his own past, M is also fighting, both internal and external factors, and you can't convince someone that "love conquers all" before they've worked it out for themselves. And it was really up to G to do the right thing - as they say, "if you love someone, let them go..."

Anyhow, this chapter is long, and still a little bit rough around the edges, I think (may be polished over time and with repeated readings...) - but I was just so excited to put it together because THIS. IS. THE. LAST. CHAPTER! Whoo! For the last time, I hope you enjoy! xx

* * *

Chapter 16

A New Beginning

It was an unusually warm day for the end of June. The windows of the quaint Viennese summerhouse were open, and the very air that blew into the house felt baked.

From where he sat on the sofa in the parlor, he could see the lush garden – elaborately manicured by Elsa's personal gardener, a wide expanse of Viennese countryside beyond, and the faint traces of mountains in the distance. It was quiet, although he could hear the occasional chirp of birdsong. Georg had to admit the home was to his taste, as Elsa had assured him it would be, although he initially objected to the idea of renting a summerhouse at all.

Georg sat alone, drinking afternoon tea. He had never been much of a tea drinker, but now he found himself clinging to the idea religiously.

 _The way he and Maria had tea in the musty old staffroom on rainy afternoons._

He sighed. He had last seen her months ago – it had been the beginning of spring, then – but somehow, his mind persisted in thinking of her as if she were still in his life. She'd gone, but he continued to be spellbound, fascinated by the trail of light and hope and _good_ she'd left in her wake.

Remembering Maria wasn't painful, per se, the way it'd been when he'd lost his first – _only_ , his mind amended – wife. In fact, his memories of her had been a kind of tonic, a pale resemblance to the woman she had been. Thinking of her brought a sense of relief, an odd clarity to his days. _Of course, Maria would have done this. She would have wanted that._ He knew her, intimately, even though she was gone.

And he spent his time, holding his constant, exhausting longing at arms length, fighting to move through each day without falling into those memories.

That first night had been the most difficult. Georg had arrived home from her apartment – alive, against all odds, given how recklessly he'd been driving – and headed straight to the liquor cabinet in his office, wanting nothing more than to numb the pain, to _stop_ feeling. His hand was already on the decanter before he forced himself to stop.

He stopped, and thought of her.

He wouldn't. Not this time. If he started down this path again, he would undo everything Maria had worked so hard to give him. She would be disappointed. She would be angry. She would despise him. As broken as he might be, he wasn't dead yet. And Georg had promised himself that only when Charon came to retrieve him would he let go of his children.

A better father. A better man. Because of her.

And so, Georg sprawled across the armchair in his office, too exhausted to entertain the thought of movement. The room was dark – he had not bothered getting up to turn on any of the lamps. He supposed he was hungry, but the gnawing feeling was in his chest, not his gut. Hungry, for a future he's desperately wanted and yet had to let go.

He lay there through the night, and mourned, and held himself together with the most tenacious of grasps.

He wasn't crushed by the weight of year,s this time around. With Maria, he'd only had months. He'd only had walks, and talks, breathless kisses and dizzying desires. But perhaps that made it all the worse, knowing the time that _could_ have been theirs. Georg could see it all – their wedding, their honeymoon, and then, endless days together, an ordinary couple with an extraordinary love. He could picture their frenzied lovemaking, full of passion, their arguments when their stubborn tempers got the better of them. They could parent the children together. Have children of their own (would it have her eyes, or perhaps his nose?) Grow old together.

It was a fool's errand. After all, Maria was alive, and with some time, would be well, too. She was young. She would have these experiences. Just not in Salzburg. Not with him.

And he? He would just have to learn to live without it.

Without her.

The days stretched before him, not unbearable – she'd taught him a better way to live – but flat. Colourless. A life without Maria.

Georg sighed, taking a sip of lukewarm tea he'd let sit for far too long. _He'd_ been sitting far too long.

Another summer.

Another month of sweltering, hot days in Vienna.

It was as though fate was trying to convince him this past year had not happened at all.

At this junction Max strolled in, looking jaunty in a casual suit, an answer in his own right. Max, at the very least, had matured – although it seemed an absurd thing to say of a man almost fifty. He had lost weight during his year in Aigen, and it gave his face a more chiseled, serious look. He appeared thoughtful as often as he did gleeful, and even his step had a more weighted quality.

Max had not returned to Vienna, even though he'd resigned his position on the Salzburg school board. He claimed the fallout from Maria's departure had become too hot to handle, although Georg though he could detect from time to time two things he'd never seen on his old friend's face – guilt, and something akin to solidarity. Even as Georg prepared to leave for Vienna, Max opted to stay. Somebody had to keep the villa in order, he'd said, jokingly. Georg had agreed, knowing deep down that Max would keep an eye on the children, and in gratitude, never again said a word about the depletion of his liquor cabinet. But Max was a frequent visitor to the summerhouse, and a couple of weeks ago revealed that he had been hired to manage a prestigious boarding school in Munich for the new year.

He invited Max to sit with him, and listened to Max relate the latest conquests and squabbles between the children. He produced a large scrapbook the children had put together as a goodbye present for him. Georg examined the pages, filled with drawings and letters to 'uncle Max', and felt a pang at the thought of the villa without Max. Despite his old friend's assertions that they were family, Georg felt he had only gotten to know the true Max this past year – knew what he was capable of, and where he stood. In a way, Max had kept the family afloat as much as he had. The children had already lost Maria, and now they were losing Max.

He tried to push that thought away. They would be okay.

Georg himself called the villa almost every night, speaking with all his children in turn. He took extra time with Liesl, who was taking the lead in caring for her siblings. How grown up she suddenly seemed! He felt a moment's guilt over how far away he was from them all, before remembering it was Liesl who had encouraged him to go in the first place. And the children had even spent a week with him here in the summerhouse, much to their delight. Georg had found himself enjoying their daily outings, too. _As she would have wanted him to._

The serving maid brought Max his third cup of espresso, and he had just started telling Georg about the young man who would be replacing him on the board, when Elsa walked through the door with a breezy "good afternoon, darlings." She paused impressively at the entrance as the maître d' collected her large sunhat.

"Dear lord Elsa, what on Earth is that?" Max asked by way of greeting, eyeing the chaotically large bouquet of flowers in her arms.

"Wildflowers, Maxie," Elsa replied without missing a beat, leaning over to give Georg a peck on the cheek. "Where would you like these, darling?"

"Thank you." He smiled warmly at her. The juxtaposition of the bouquet she was holding – sweet mountain flowers spilling down the sides and fighting against their ties – against her satin afternoon blouse spoke volumes to the effort she was making for his sake. He doubted Elsa, whose admirers dealt exclusively in the exotic, could tell the difference between an arnica and a gentian.

Elsa surrendered the flowers over to him, before settling on the couch next to Max.

Georg took the bouquet into the kitchen, hunting for a vase, the low drone of Max and Elsa's conversation fading into the background. In the late spring, she had appeared with a giant bowl of edelweiss, bringing his thoughts immediately to a particular evening they'd had at the villa. Elsa and Max had both been there. And Maria had been there. The children had just finished their nightly performance and were crowded around Maria, and when he turned from the bar cart, _she_ was holding out his old guitar. _Please_ , she had said. And he had played her Edelweiss.

And now, this – bunches of flowers than looked like it came straight from the countryside. His countryside.

It reminded him of home. And it reminded him of _her_.

Had that been Elsa's intention all along? Georg didn't know how much she knew of Maria, or the scandal that had erupted just before she left. They never talked about the time she had spent in Aigen, apart from the time she had thanked him for taking care of her. Between her illness and his loss, there were too many sore spots to navigate. Elsa never mentioned Maria by name, but somehow, she seemed to understand what Maria had come to mean to him, and how much it was costing him to let her go.

Elsa had not seemed surprised when he called her from Aigen to make arrangements for his stay in Vienna. But she had persuaded him to take an out-of-the-way summerhouse, instead of his usual luxury suite.

 _Think of it as a retreat, not an escape, Georg_ , she had suggested when he hesitated.

And perhaps it was true. In a way, Elsa had offered him time. Time to spend with his memories of Maria, time to miss her, to want her, to love her, time to grieve over the future he could have had with her. Time to grasp what he still had to hold, and what he had to let go. Tucked away in a quiet corner of Vienna, without being triggered by Maria's presence everywhere in Aigen, without his anger threatening to boil over at everyone he encountered in Salzburg, Georg found that he had come to accept that life would go on, after all.

 _How did you know this is what I needed?_ He asked her once.

 _I know you, Georg._

Elsa too, seemed different from the Elsa Schraeder he used to know. She had always been intuitive, but he would never have before called her sensitive. Her presence had always been reassuring, but she had never been comforting. But now she dropped by, unannounced and frequently, as though she had cleared her schedule for him. They often sat in companionable silence, each reading a book, or quietly sipping a cup of tea. It was as though they were discovering a new way to be, together, and Georg found that he did not mind at all. If not entirely fulfilling, it was at least peaceful.

Maybe they were both getting old. If that was the case, he thought wryly, perhaps it was not such a terrible thing after all.

Having properly wrestled the flowers into a matching pair of vases, Georg returned to the parlor. As one, Max and Elsa looked up at him, suddenly wary, the sentence on Max's lips trailing into silence. Elsa looked flustered, and Max positively morose.

He had a pretty good idea what they had been talking about. He cleared his throat. "What news?"

He pretended not to see the way his friends glanced at each other as he crossed the area rug in three large strides back to his chair. "It's… Maria," Max said at last. "She's…"

Georg waited, but still Max hesitated.

"Is she… back in Salzburg?" He asked, trying to keep his voice calm. "Did you see her?"

"She's in Salzburg," Max started, nodding. He cleared his throat, the words he had been about to say seemed to catch on his tongue. He looked to Elsa for help.

"Why?" Georg asked, more to himself. "Why would she come back? Why didn't she just take the money and go? There's nothing for her here – she doesn't need another stoning."

"You don't need to worry about that." Elsa's voice cut in, quiet and determined. She waited until he was looking at her. "Maria – she's entered the convent."

* * *

When Georg returned to Aigen mid-summer, his children crowded around him in welcome. He was reminded of the stark contrast to his return last year. Instead of hugs and yelps of joy, instead of Marta jumping into his arms, there had been awkward silence as children had stared at him in awe and disbelief.

Despite the heaviness that had surrounded him after learning of Maria's decision, he felt his heart warm. They would be okay.

They had a merry supper, the older ones smiling happily while the younger ones peppered him with innocent question about the allures of Vienna, which he answered in good humor, despite not having done any of it during his stay. He caught Liesl's eye, and gave her a warm smile and nod, as if in salute. She returned the smile with a girlish shrug, a partner in crime.

This time around, he was no longer alone.

 _A soft knock on his office door brought him out of his reverie, and he was startled to see the sky had already turned a gentle shade of pink._

 _It was the first morning since leaving Maria's apartment, and he had spent the entire night on the couch in his office, holding a vigil for a lost future._

 _Georg ran a hand through his mussed hair, then went from lying to standing so abruptly he saw stars. He cleared his throat. "Come in." His voice was gravelly from disuse._

 _The door creaked open, and he saw a sliver of dainty slippers and too-long arms and legs, hovering on the threshold as though unsure of what she would find._

 _He cleared his throat again. If he were to make good on his promise for the children, he couldn't retreat now. "Liesl – come in."_

 _The door opened wider, and Liesl wandered in. She moved with hesitation, but he saw a mix of sadness, understanding, and determination in her eyes that told him this was a very different girl than the one he'd abandoned the first time._

 _He sat down again, patting the couch beside him. She sat, and he felt her body relax as he took her hand in his. She rested her head gingerly on his shoulder._

 _They were silent for a moment. Georg felt a sudden comfort in her presence, glad that she was his daughter, and that at least they still had this connection._

" _You love Fraulein Maria very much, don't you?" Liesl's voice was earnest in the semi-darkness. "I can tell you do."_

 _He paused, taken aback to hear the words said out loud, by one of his children. He decided to be honest. "Very much."_

" _I wish she didn't have to go away." Her voice was quiet, a bit muffled._

 _Georg exhaled, long and sad. "She wanted to say goodbye to you all… She wrote you a note."_

 _He felt his daughter nod briefly against his shoulder. "I know she didn't want to go. She wouldn't have left us if she had a choice, would she?"_

 _Georg shook his head. He hadn't given much thought to how he would explain her dismissal and sudden departure to the children. If he had, he would have been agonizing over how much truth to divulge. Would the younger ones be confused? Would the older ones misunderstand? Would the words simply choke painfully in his throat?_

 _But he leaned into Liesl's embrace, and realized that no explanation was necessary. It was clear Liesl – and no doubt her siblings as well – had chosen to believe their own view of Fraulein Maria._

" _I don't know," he said finally. "But I'd like to think not."_

 _She was silent a long moment. "If you need to leave for a little while too, we understand."_

 _Georg looked down at the top of her head in surprise. He had been prepared to hunker down and get on with life, if only for the children. If only to show them that no matter what happened, he would stay. But now here was his eldest daughter, almost shoving him out the door. And he knew that she did understand. Not only why he wanted to leave, but also that if he did leave, he would always come back. He would be there for them._

 _He shook his head. "I can't, Liesl. Your siblings…they wouldn't understand."_

" _Friedrich and I can help them," Liesl said, her voice a little stronger. "They'll be okay." He sighed, and she added. "We'll wait for you."_

 _Georg leaned down until his head was resting against her hair. "We'll wait together. Wait for the sun to come out."_

 _And they whispered together, as though a blond-haired, blue-eyed someone had put the thought directly into their minds. "It always does."_

* * *

Georg did not want to think about church.

It was a Sunday, and Franz had gone to pick the children up from Sunday school. Georg himself had not attended church in years, and his children had not had much in the way of religious upbringing since Agathe's passing. It wasn't until Maria stayed with them did she encourage the idea of Sunday school, which the children took up enthusiastically. They would have been prevailed upon to fly to the moon, if it was Maria who suggested it, Georg had thought in amusement, then.

He had always known Maria attended church regularly, and despite her uncle's claims otherwise, she believed in its teachings. But he had never ever imagined that she would one day become a nun.

He remembered thinking that Maria had the kind of fierce devotion and sense of duty that led women to abandon worldly comforts to enter the service of God. But he couldn't imagine Maria, with her enormous capacity to love, with her adventurous spirit and big ideas, with so much to give the world, shrouded in a wimple and cloistered behind four stone walls. The very idea suffocated him.

While he wanted to support her, even now, wanted her to find a new beginning, wanted her to be happy, his mind continued to reject fiercely the idea of Maria as a nun.

Was it what she really wanted? Or had she, after enduring so much, finally stopped fighting and fled to a place where she knew she would be safe?

The thoughts haunted him. Smothered him. And finally, chased him from the villa as he awaited his children's return, and drove him to the mountains.

There, alone in the hills, with the fresh mountain air, brisk even in summer, with his tie loosened and his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, with the sun on his bare arms and dirt under his feet, Georg felt he might be able to breathe.

But was he alone?

A figure appeared on the far end of his hill, and he stopped, winded and startled. This side of the mountain was not a place that attracted tourists.

He watched her – for it was a her, as he could make out the silhouette of a fluttering skirt as the wind caught a hold of it – pick her way in his direction. Then her gait changed. He felt alarmed, her erratic, wobbling steps making him wonder if she had fallen ill, before realizing she was making little jumps like she was hopping stones to cross a stream, which, if he remembered the topography, was exactly what she was doing.

Something about her movements tugged at him, as though his mind was determined to see the woman who by all accounts no longer belonged to this outside world.

She moved with a sort of reckless abandon, and he could not be sure if she was dancing or running. As she drew closer, he made out her slender silhouette, sheathed in a grey and black striped frock, her roughly cut blond bob, the shape of her face and the spacing of her eyes and the delicate curve of her lips, although he should have been much too far away to make out her features.

Georg found himself holding his breath.

How could it be her?

He stood, transfixed, staring at her approaching figure. He saw the moment she noticed him. Saw her stop, saw her waver, before watching as she moved slowly toward him.

She was standing arms-reach in front of him.

He inhaled. And inhaled again. Taking her in, as though she were as vital to him as breathing. Maria herself was breathless, the rapid rise and fall of her chest distracting to him. She stood looking at him, unusually reserved, but neither did she look _broken_ ,the way she had when he last left her. Her eyes were as disarming as ever, and she was titling her chin in that challenging way that had become so intimately familiar to him.

They stared at each other.

"I – I thought you were to become a nun!" The words came out as a half-gasp.

Maria flushed a lovely pink. "Oh, Georg – I could never be a nun!"

Her voice held the same measure of incredulousness as his thoughts did when he pictured her as a nun. He could have shouted in relief. Instead, his breath came as a long exhale. "I heard from Max that you had entered the convent, and I – "

He broke off. _And I just didn't want to believe it._

She shook her head. "I'm staying at Nonnberg Abbey," Maria started to explain, then paused, looking at him as though in reassurance. As though she knew he had been wondering how Max had, for the first time in his life, gotten his news so twisted. "The Sisters took me in out of kindness because I – I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Georg frowned, bewildered. "You were in Salzburg this entire time?"

"No. I had hired a car, but I didn't know where I was going. I – I was too worked up to make any plans." Maria looked down, but not before he caught the look of pain that flashed across her face. "Herr Detweiler told me I should head for Munich. He said if I was having trouble, he had connections in Munich, and I was to let him know. I got to Teisendorf – it was my first time across the border – and I… I just couldn't keep going. It didn't feel right. Something was wrong. And so I – I came back."

Georg had blanched. "You came back… after all… that?" _After all they did to you?_

"At first I didn't want to see anybody," she admitted. "I stayed in the room the Sisters had given me for days."

He saw her swallow, and felt his chest constrict. Those early days apart had been dark enough for him, in his Viennese retreat, with Elsa's best delicacies at his disposal. He could only imagine what Maria had gone through, alone, stripped of everything she had known – as though she was serving penitence for a crime she did not commit. "And then?"

"Then? Well, I knew I couldn't hide from my problems forever." The beginnings of a smile crept into her voice. "You need to face them, you know."

"What have you been doing?"

She brightened. "I play the piano for the Sisters during matins and vespers. And I – I've been teaching a bit."

" _Teaching?"_ Georg couldn't keep the surprise from his voice.

"Music. At first, I gave lessons to some of the postulates, because you know music is so very important to the Sisters," she said seriously. "And then somehow word got out, and I started getting other students. The Sisters were so kind to let me use a room in the church."

Their eyes met, and she read in his a reluctant question. "Nobody's said anything to me about what happened before." Her voice became gentler. "I think… it was really only a small group of people all along who … didn't like me. Didn't like what I was doing. I even have a few pupils I used to teach – and even one of the parents started taking lessons. Everyone has been accepting, Georg."

He shook his head helplessly, wondering how she had it in her to be so forgiving, despite all he knew of her. "Oh Maria – I feel like… you deserve an apology. You should be demanding an apology."

The Maria he loved looked at him, eyes full of understanding. "No – I don't expect it, and I feel like I would be cheating myself now if I keep waiting for one." She shrugged, lightly. "I don't feel angry, Georg. I'm doing what I love, still. And it was what I had always wanted."

"Was?"

She nodded. "You know – teaching had been my dream. It was the only thing that was _mine_. I didn't have any family. I didn't have anyone to share anything with. But when I could teach, when I could share my love of music… then I had something to give." Maria swallowed. "I had a lot of time to myself, here in the Abbey – a lot of time to think. To really think, for myself, without worrying about money or paying anyone back or having to prove anything to anyone. I still love teaching, but being a teacher doesn't define who I have to be, anymore. I've never been allowed to think that way before."

Georg tried to swallow his trepidation. "Did you – did you think about becoming an aspirant? A postulant?"

She shook her head. "No. I do love it here. It's peaceful, and the Sisters are so wonderful, and everything is so _orderly_. But I knew I could never be a nun because…" She took a breath, and lifted her eyes to meet his " – I love you."

He took an involuntary step forward, stunned into silence. Had he heard her correctly?

Maria looked down, suddenly shy. "Baroness Schraeder told me once that if I left, you wouldn't get over it."

The sound that came from his lips was half-groan, half-sigh. "Oh no no – Maria, you don't have to do this. Not for me."

"I know Georg." Maria took a step forward too, and he realized she was trembling. "What I'm trying to say is that I – I couldn't get over it. Wouldn't get over it. I was in Teisendorf, and all I wanted was to come back… to _you_. You were here. The children were here. I was leaving behind family, leaving behind the only person I ever wanted to share everything with. And I – I couldn't."

Unbidden, tears came into his eyes. Tears of relief, of gratitude, of an emotion so intense it was useless hiding it. "Is that… why you came back?"

"Yes. I didn't know if you would still want me…" She swallowed as she saw him flinch in protest, " – but I needed to find out. I needed to own up to it. I needed to look for the life I wanted."

Happiness was breaking over him like a wave. "And have you…found it?" His voice was a murmur in the space between them.

Hers was a sigh. "Yes, I think I have. I know I have."

He took her chin in his hands, tenderly, gently, and tilted his face to hers. "I love you."

She leaned into him, and when their lips met, it was a promise that embraced the past, and sealed their future.

Reluctantly they parted. Georg touched his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, inhaling everything about her. She nuzzled against him, her breath a soft sigh against his skin.

The sun was just setting over the highest ridge, casting them in a cool, protective shadow. Around them, the mountains were awash with colour, and it seemed even the wind and the trees were singing in jubilation. Down below, the winding Salzach river curled around the small town of Salzburg, vibrant, peaceful, magical, painful, a memory, a haven – depending on how you looked. And in the distance, they could see the road that led to Aigen.

In that moment, it was just the two of them, standing on top of a mountain, in a world where everything was possible.

"Come," he whispered against her ear, "let me walk you home."

* * *

" _Darling, do you see that hill over there? The one over that valley?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Can you picture a little clearing, surrounded by a groove of birch?"_

" _Mm-hmm."_

" _And a little lodge, sitting just above a gentle, winding stream?"_

" _How lovely, Georg! Is it yours?"_

" _Yes, darling. It's been empty for years. What do you say we open a small school?"_

" _A school! All the way up there?"_

" _Why ever not? The hills are alive, so they'll say, with the sound of music…"_

* * *

" _You stayed at a summerhouse in Vienna?"_

" _Yes, trying to convince myself that when the Lord closes a door, somewhere, he opens a window."_

" _Darling, why are you looking at me like – oh, I told you that!"_

" _Yes. When you told me about your childhood. But all I could think about was that door that led to you…"_

* * *

" _Oh, Maria. Mmm – darling, somebody will see."_

" _I'm not afraid of anyone looking."_

* * *

" _Maria."_

" _Hmm?"_

" _Is there anyone I should go to to ask permission to marry you?"_

" _Well – why don't we ask…"_

" _The children?"_

* * *

" _Georg. I'm so happy."_

" _You have made me the happiest man in this world."_

" _Can this really be happening to me?"_

" _I love you."_

* * *

 _It's a dream that will need, all the love you can give_

 _Everyday of my life, for as long as I live_

* * *

Epilogue

Maria entered her room – the same guest room that had been hers during her previous stay at the villa, at her request – to find a parcel wrapped in a bit of brown paper waiting for her on the bed with a note resting on top.

She smiled, recognizing Georg's handiwork. _Think of me_ , he had written the first time, when he had sent along a parasol on a cloudy day. As though a moment goes by where she _doesn't_ think of him! His little tokens were sometimes playful (a giant box of strudels from her favourite bakery), sometimes moving (a poem or short verse), and sometimes practical. Maria unwrapped her parcel now, to find a beautiful dress of fine, buttery silk, in hues of blues and greens, with just a touch of gold. A flowing skirt made for dancing. An intricate bow cinching a delicate waist – she could wear it now with no difficulty, given that she had done enough laughing in the intervening days to make her belly ache, constantly.

 _For tonight_ , said the note in his elegant, angular script.

So Georg was having a ball. He had hinted at planning an engagement party before the wedding, and with her numerous wedding tasks, instructed her not to worry over it. Maria wasn't worried. She may have been a bit nervous when the engagement announcements went out, but the cards that had come back had all been positive, and the guests she had received so far were warmly receptive, if not downright cheery.

And Georg! The man who never stopped loving her. Who loved her every way she wished to be loved. For him, she would do this again, and again. For him, she would conquer anything.

Maria slipped into the dress after tea – there had been no supper, as was to be expected when hosting a party – applied some cosmetics, and slid the thin, golden band that had been a gift from him into her hair. She stood in front of her full-length mirror.

A baroness looked back at her. Perhaps not the most sophisticated, or the most polished. Perhaps a baroness who wouldn't always say the right things, and wouldn't do things as expected. Perhaps a baroness who laughed too often, and sang too much. But she could pass.

The reflection in the mirror looked a little bit like a stranger, dolled up, taller – the ballet flats she had chosen to wear had a little bit of heel – and wearing a dress fit for royalty, but still recognizably herself.

The woman in the mirror belonged to _him_ – she wore his dress, and his tiara, and on her neck, the faint, almost invisible blush from when he marked her with his lips several blissful evenings ago – but she was still very much Maria.

And that, she thought, was a good a start as any.

Maria made her way to the stairwell, practicing little curtsies along the way, and found him waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

Her heart jumped into her throat – whether it was at how he looked, or that this distinguished man was waiting for _her_ , she couldn't be sure. He was wearing his tails, his Maria Theresa cross nestled against a crisp white collar. He watched her descend the steps toward him with an enigmatic smile and molten eyes.

When she reached the bottom, his smile widened and his eyes burned. He moved a second too late, as though he couldn't stop looking. He took her hand, bringing it to his lips, trailing kisses to her wrist. "Oh Maria," he murmured against her skin, "look at you. You make me want to call off the night."

"That would be… a waste," she managed impishly, suppressing a shiver at his touch. "Everyone would be disappointed."

He straightened, and ducked his head in apparent acquiescence. "Come, then." He tucked her hand into his arm, leading her toward the ballroom.

"Wait – Georg, shouldn't we wait to welcome the guests?"

His eyes met hers for just a moment, before he pushed open the double doors, one after the other.

Warm, golden light flooded through the doorway from the sparkling chandeliers above. The polished wooden floors gleamed, and the gilded walls shone with a soft glow. The entire room felt as though it were made of light, felt enchanted, felt alive. A full chamber orchestra filled the space between the dance floor and wall. The conductor met Georg's eyes with a barely perceptible nod, and almost immediately, a lively waltz filled the room. A slight movement in the corner drew Maria's awed attention, where she saw an attendant waiting with a tray of glasses.

"Champagne, if you want," Georg murmured, following her gaze.

"Georg!" She breathed, captivated. "You didn't… do all this for me?"

 _If it were up to me, I would invite nobody at all._

She turned to him, to find him already looking at her. His gaze was steady, but his voice broke. "The first time you walked in here – that was the moment I realized I wanted you to stay."

 _You see… I'd only need one partner. I'd only want one partner. And I'd want to spend the entire evening with her._

"I want to stay. I think I knew then, that I wanted to stay," she whispered, as he gathered her into his arms.

"I know," he whispered back, drawing her onto the dance floor. He trailed his fingers gently along her arm, encircled her wrist, and finally, took her hand. "I wanted to be sure you knew it, too."

Maria let him slip his other arm around her waist, but instead of settling her free hand at his shoulder, she reached for him, her fingers threading into his hair, guiding him to her. His mouth grazed hers, and she mumbled against his lips, "I want to be yours."

Georg's answer was not in words, but in the way he held her close, the way his lips lingered against hers, the way his eyes closed, not in fear, but in reverence.

"Steady," she whispered teasingly. "The night is only beginning."

There was a sudden pause in the music, a caesura where both Georg and Maria took the same breath.

His eyes shone. "To our new beginning." The music swelled triumphantly, he swept her against him, and together, they waltzed across the floor. Two, as one.

* * *

THE END

You have no idea now excited I am to finish this story! This is the first multi-chapter story I've written/completed, and it's been such a huge part of the past year and a half.

Thank you to all who read, reviewed, and left such insightful comments that prompted me to delve a little more deeply. This story is what it is because of your support and encouragement! xx

Till next time!


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